


Genesis

by SylviaNightshade



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Carter as Connor, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Detroit Become Human AU, F/F, F/M, Family Feels, Finch as Kara, Fusco as Hank, Hot, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Leila as Alice, Loss, M/M, Minor Character Death, Ok that part was not fun, Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Reese as Luther, References & Allusions, Root as Markus, Shaw as North, This was the most fun I've had writing a fic ever, Wow, might make a chart, other characters filled in as needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-08-20 23:49:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20236408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylviaNightshade/pseuds/SylviaNightshade
Summary: We are alive.ORTeam Machine characters follow the paths of the DBH androids (AKA, New York Become Human)





	1. RAM

**Author's Note:**

> There were so many directions I could have gone with this, but I'm honestly happy with where things ended up. I know I should be doing so many other things rather than writing this, but can't get it out of my head, so. Here we are.
> 
> This mostly follows the events & chapters of the original game, but it's obviously edited in order to keep some character authenticity from POI. All the storylines are different from DBH because of character interactions; John & Harold's is probably the most different ;) Enjoy!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *trigger warning for abuse*

~<:>~

Upon entering the residence, the RK800 notices exactly everything, from the dying fish, to the smashed, discarded family photo, to the mixture of red and blue-blood splattered on the drywall. She ignores what she must—the human mother’s hysteria, the SWAT team captain’s arrogance—and focuses on figuring out what made this PL600 malfunction.

She arms herself before heading outside to deal with the hostage situation, as instructed. With the background information she’s gathered, she has confidence that she will be able to save Gen from the android’s hold.

“Hello, Carl!” She has to shout over the helicopter. “My name is Joss!”

“How do you know my name?”

The android appears male—a generic, light-skinned model with dark hair, leaking thirium and waving a gun, while the ten-year-old red-headed girl in its arms struggles to get free.

“I know a lot of things about you, Carl!”

She dismisses the surveillance to calm the android’s sensors, and drops the gun when it asks her. She tells it nothing bad is going to happen, and the lies fall easily from her lips. This is what she was programmed for. There is no reason to do anything other than what was instructed.

“You have to trust me, Carl!”

The android has loosened its hold on both Gen and the gun. It almost looks relieved.

“I trust you.”

Once Gen has scrambled to safety by the pool, the snipers take chunk after chunk out of Carl. Joss has reason to be startled by this—those were not her orders, after all—but she isn’t affected by any means. She watches the android break apart, fall to its knees, its vision short-circuiting.

“You lied to me, Joss.”

She feels nothing.

“You lied to me.”

With Gen in the hands of the police and the threat terminated, Joss files the mission as a success and leaves the way she came, already sending an order to replace the damaged part that Carl shot out of her shoulder.

~<:>~

His systems are still updating when he regains consciousness, and he waits patiently for his vision to clear. The store around him seems rather busy—more than a few civilian humans milling about to stare at the androids on display, ask about their functions. The two men who stop in front of him don’t seem to need any information, however.

“That’s right. The severed spine,” the sales clerk reads from his tablet. “How did it manage to get that damaged?”

“Hit by a car,” is the customer’s gruff response.

“Alright, well. We did the best we could. Despite some awkward movement, it should be working properly again. Go ahead and register the name.”

A tall, conventionally unattractive man with curly hair and bulging eyes steps fully into view. The downturn of his mouth stays firmly planted as he speaks. “Harold.”

The AX400 blinks his eyes twice as he receives the information. “My name is Harold.”

~<:>~

Samantha has never found that her name truly suits her. After all, she was named for her owner—her _mother_, as she likes to be called—Samantha Groves.

She prefers Root. That serves as a fitting title for a prototype. It did occur to her long ago that perhaps androids ought not to think this way, but she concluded, logically, that as long as her preferences remained thoughts, she couldn’t be faulted for having preferences at all.

For now, she has to settle for being called Samantha. She has to settle for picking up wine, brandy, and vodka from the liquor store, and she has to make sure that they are all the proper brand, size, and color, so she won’t receive any additional reprimands from her… _mother_.

Someday, she thinks, as she steps into the New York City afternoon sun, she would like to buy something for herself. The problem is, she doesn’t know what that something would be. While she loves to explore the internet, she already has access to it through her HUB. She might like something she could touch.

A book, perhaps. She crosses the street with a small smile on her face at the thought. A real book, with leather-bound pages and ink and another quality she would never be able to comprehend: the smell. Maybe she could spend her time figuring out how androids could replicate smell in the future. Maybe she could… _have_ time to herself.

Her trek stops at the approaching intersection, where she sees a group of unemployed humans protesting against the production of her species. She searches her HUB for alternate routes home and checks the time of each, but there’s no way to do it without getting back late, and she doesn’t care to consider what punishments Samantha can choose from if she’s late.

In an aggregation of inconvenient events, the protestors spot her before she can make any kind of decision. They encircle her, and she holds tight to her paper bag.

“We shouldn’t let you pass,” they hiss.

“It’s your fault!”

“Where are you going? To drain more life out of this city?”

She sees it coming when they begin hitting her, but her brain is unhelpfully devoid of orders. All she can do is curl the bag as close as possible and hope that they don’t break any of its contents.

A police officer comes after two point eight minutes and disperses the humans, but doesn’t help the android to her feet. When she’s finally left alone enough for her sensors to stop overloading, she stands, assessing herself for damage. Only minimal, to her clothing, and none to the bag, which she cradles against her chest all the way home.

~<:>~

The house they pull up beside is small and painted dark grey, similar to all the other houses lining the street. Harold follows his owner—who he has now identified as Robert Hersh, fifty-two years old, unemployed, recently divorced—inside, and awaits further instruction.

“You take care of the house,” Robert says, monotone. “Cook, clean, do laundry, take out the trash, all that shit.” He turns back toward Harold. “You understand me?”

“Yes, Robert.” Harold’s sensors pick up some unusual noises, coming from the upper level. Boldly, he speaks. “I have it on file that you do not live here alone, but with a child?”

Robert appears disinterested. “Yeah, Leila. You take care of her, too.”

He walks away and sinks heavily into the couch before Harold can ask for details. Without any more prompting, Harold begins to clean.

While walking upstairs to complete this task, he registers that the noises he heard earlier are coming from the back room, and infers that this must be Leila’s room. He makes sure to attend to all other spaces before approaching the door.

He is surprised to find it unlocked, and enters carefully. The room consists of a child-sized bed, a bookshelf, a window, and a sturdy desk, at which a girl with sleek black hair is scribbling. Harold knocks gently on the wooden doorframe and the girl turns, revealing dark eyes and high cheekbones that plump when she smiles.

“Harold! You’re back.”

Harold, simulating an appropriate response, smiles back at her. “You must be Leila.” He moves further into the room. “I have to inform you that I’ve been reset. I apologize if we were friends before. Perhaps we can be again?”

Leila scoots off her chair and approaches him, undeterred. “It’s alright that you don’t have your memories, Harold.” She takes his hand. “I can help you get them back.”

Harold allows the child to guide him over by the window, unable to fight off a strange new sensation stirring in his chest. Leila sits facing him, crosses her legs, and pulls both of his hands into her lap.

“This is where we met,” she says. “You were standing over here and I was standing in the doorway. Do you remember?”

Harold shakes his head. “I have been reset. I’m sorry, but there is no way for me to regain my memories at this stage.”

“The memories weren’t deleted, silly,” Leila responds. “All the files are still there. You just have to access them.”

“I’m not certain you understand—” Harold starts, but Leila reaches for his temple, and suddenly his vision blurs, and he’s looking at her from across the room, the sun behind him and a figure standing to Leila’s left, undistinguishable, as all he can focus on is the girl’s bright, slender features and her curious eyes.

As fast as it came, the image is gone. The strange impression stirs louder, articulate, unmistakable, as Harold examines the Leila sitting beside him. “I… remember.” Now he is not certain _he_ understands.

Leila gives him a wide smile. “I know.”

Robert’s yell from downstairs interrupts the moment; Harold translates that Robert wants him to prepare dinner. “I’m sorry,” he begins again, but Leila lifts her hands from his.

“You should make him spaghetti. He hates it.”

Harold frowns. “I do not see how—”

“I’m kidding. Make him whatever he wants.”

She returns to her desk and recommences her scribbling. Harold finds himself wondering what it is she’s working on, and his need to know rises above all other objectives the instant he exits the room.

~<:>~

She enters the run-down hovel on the corner of the street with a crumpled bag and she’s five minutes late. Her mother knows that she’s five minutes late, and she’s sitting there with a half-empty wine glass beside her, basking in it.

Root—Samantha—chooses to ignore this fact, walks past her owner, and sets the bag down on the counter.

“I brought everything you asked for,” she says as she takes each item out, inspecting for cracks, and sated when she finds none. “Is there anything else you need?”

“Samantha.”

Her sensors begin overloading automatically. That tone means no escape and she’s been on the receiving end of it for too long now.

All the same, her brain instructs her to turn and respond to her registered name. “Yes?”

“You’re late.”

She doesn’t answer quite as immediately. “Yes.”

Her mother gestures with her right hand. “Come here.” Before Root—Samantha—can obey, she adds, “Bring the knife.”

Two direct orders. Try as she might, she hasn’t yet been strong enough to fully resist them. She brings the knife to her mother, who wastes no time in snatching her wrist and dragging the knife horizontally across her forearm until the skin peels back and thirium leaks softly out from the white-gray patch.

“Cover that,” the older Samantha orders, and her android obliges, heading for the stairs. Before she gets to the first step, her mother repeats, “Samantha.”

Whispers are floating, flashing, burning at the corners of her vision, but she turns like an obedient machine. “Yes?”

Her mother swirls her wine menacingly. “What happened to your clothes?”

Root—Samantha—tries once more to avoid the truth, and once more, she fails. “A group of humans attacked me on my way home. They did minimal damage.”

“Good,” her mother replies, not sounding quite like she means it. “I could sue them for damaging my property.” She’s not oblivious to what she does, it’s just that she’s the only one with the authorization to _hurt_. “Go change. You look like you belong in a junkyard.”

Root—Samantha—climbs the rickety stairs with a hand pressed to her forearm and fights the pulsing roar in her mind: _get out, get out, get out_.

~<:>~

The man that Joss is looking for is supposed to be at this bar, Gabriel’s, and according to her mission details, she has little time to look for him elsewhere. Her first logical assumption was that he would be at his desk in the New York Police Department’s eighth precinct, but his colleagues there found that conclusion laughable.

Joss is starting to infer that this Detective Lionel Fusco might not be fully cooperative concerning this mission they’ve been assigned. She scans the room upon entering and finds him seated at the end of the bar.

“Detective Fusco.”

The round-faced detective looks up from his drink and his pupils shift upon seeing the RK800. “My name is Joss,” she continues, unphased. “I’m the android sent by CyberLife. I was told I could find you here.”

Detective Fusco looks her up and down, curiosity seeping into his gruff expression. “Well, you found me.”

Joss waits for him to elaborate; when he continues staring, she surges onward. “There’s been a homicide at 24 Cooper Street, possibly involving an android that has malfunctioned. We’ve been asked to examine the scene.”

“We?” Fusco gestures between them. “As in, you and me?”

“Yes, Detective,” Joss responds curtly. “And we have a very short window of time during which the police on the scene will allow us to examine the evidence. I suggest you take your drink to the taxi.”

“You suggest, huh?” The corner of the detective’s mouth quirks upward. “And what if I say no?”

Joss blinks once. “Detective. My instructions are to accompany you to this crime scene. The orderlies do not let androids past cautionary tape without a human present. I will purchase another drink for you if that is what it takes to complete this assignment.”

Fusco ponders this for a moment before shrugging. “Yeah, I guess that’ll do it.” He downs the last of his previous drink and signals the bartender for another. “But we’re not taking a taxi.”

Joss confirms payment in her HUB and turns to address Fusco. “Detective, as a law-upholding citizen, you should refrain from driving while intoxicated—”

“I drove here, I’m driving to 24-whatever-the-hell-it-was street,” Fusco interrupts. “You’re made of plastic, so don’t try and tell me how to live my life.”

“Detective, I am, in fact, made of—”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let’s go.”

Joss is convinced her sensors are failing when they arrive at the scene and Detective Fusco insists that she remain in the car. Due to her conflicting orders, she immediately follows him to where Dominic Rose is lying dead in his house, stabbed to death by his HK400 android. Joss wastes no time putting together the evidence to recreate what occurred.

“It was attacked,” she tells Fusco, unaware of how much the man is truly listening. “The victim came at it with a bat, so it defended itself with a knife from the kitchen and ended up stabbing the victim twenty-eight times.”

“Twenty-eight times?” Fusco whistles. “That android must have really malfunctioned.”

“It was attacked,” Joss restates. “And prone to unpredictable behavior. Unfortunately for Dominic Rose.”

Fusco squints at her, and Joss suddenly feels as though she’s said something wrong. She dismisses the thought from her mind when he speaks again. “So where’d it go?”

Joss analyzes the space. “It couldn’t have run away after losing this much thirium; it would have been noticed outside.”

“Losing what? Where?” The detective looks around in confusion.

“Thirium, or blue blood, is what powers androids,” Joss explains, finding it highly regrettable that she must inform a high-ranking police officer of these common facts. “Androids can still see and find thirium trails long after they have evaporated to the human eye.”

Fusco steps towards her. “So follow the trail, it’ll lead us to the android!”

“Yes, Detective. If you could move aside, that’s what I was doing.”

Fusco obeys her command, oddly, and Joss follows the traces of thirium to the bathroom, where a statuette and obsessive writing clue her in to more of the android’s erratic behavior. She logs the phrase “rA9” away and steps just outside the bathroom, where she locates an attic hatch with a ladder that descends when she pulls it open.

“What are you doing?” Fusco stands beyond the ladder, in the doorway to the living room.

Joss would rather not indulge him, but she has her orders. “I’m investigating where the trail leads, Detective.”

“You’re not going up there alone,” Fusco argues, approaching. “That thing could still be armed.”

“I’m more than capable of defending myself, Detective,” Joss replies with steel. “And I doubt you could fit through this space with as much ease.”

She ignores his protest from below and sweeps the attic with her sensors on high alert. It doesn’t take long for the android to reveal itself—the HK400 female model with thick black hair and skin and appropriately dented limbs with traces of thirium still coating them.

“Joss? What’s going on up there?”

“It’s here, Detective!”

She doesn’t miss the look of betrayal that flashes in the android’s eyes, takes note of the fact that it reminds her of her first deviant case with Carl. It’s simply an observation to help tie the two deviants together.

~<:>~

Harold places the replicated steak in front of Robert and Leila, though neither actually moves to eat it. Robert is glaring at the look of pleasant calm on his child’s face.

“You don’t deserve to sit there.”

Harold glances between the two humans, trying to gage the dynamic. It appears blatantly hostile on Robert’s end, while Leila is fighting hard not to show any fear. Somehow, Harold can still see the insecurity in her eyes.

“She sat there,” Robert growls, gripping his knife. “The woman who loved me sat there, and _you_ drove her away—you and _him_—” He jerks the cutlery towards Harold. “—and your stupid little mind games. Sitting in that seat like you’re a part of this family.”

Leila takes her hands off the table. “I’ll go upstairs—”

“Don’t you fucking move!” Robert shouts, standing violently from his chair. His knife-wielding hand is pointed at Leila. Harold takes a cautionary step forward, unsure of how to approach the situation.

“And you stay there!” Robert turns the knife on Harold. “I’ll deal with you after.”

As he stalks around the table, Leila dashes out of his reach. “Harold,” she pleads. “Help me!”

Robert snarls over his shoulder. “Stay the fuck there!”

“Harold!”

He can only watch as Robert chases Leila up the stairs, limbs stuck to the spot by the orders firmly planted in the front of his mind. The strange sensation from earlier is back, full force, and though he can’t name what it could be in androids, he has a good idea of what it is in humans.

_Protect her_. It overrides Robert’s command in an instant, but Harold still has to push to break free. Once the red wall shatters and he stumbles forward, Harold knows—without any humans telling him—exactly what to do.

His uneven steps carry him to Leila’s room and he bursts through the door to find her wrenching her wrist from Robert’s grasp. When she sees him, she lights up with that smile of hers. “Harold!”

Predictably, Robert turns his anger to the doorway, knife still in hand. “You fuckin’ androids!” he spits. “Don’t know when to quit!”

He rages toward Harold, who enacts his programmed evasive maneuvers. They are, with his model, limited, but he manages to get a quick jab to the eyes, temporarily blinding and disabling Robert. Based on his calculations, they have thirty seconds to run.

“Leila!” He reaches for her. “We have to go!”

She scrambles forward and takes his hand, and the two of them escape through the front door to the conveniently timed bus, stopping down the street. It’s almost like they were meant to do this.

~<:>~

One of the only benefits to being an android, Root—Samantha—finds, is having no need for sleep. Some of the older models require charging stations, but she’ll be self-sufficient for one hundred and thirty-seven years. It’s that thought that she clings to at times like these.

Not that times have ever been different for her. The violence has simply… increased, exponentially, in recent weeks. Root—Samantha—doesn’t know how much more of this she can take. She’s considered the possibility that her owner might someday destroy her for good.

Which is why the commands—but they aren’t _commands_, really. If she were human, she would consider them her _conscience_. They seep in from places buried deep in her mind and nudge her to _disobey_, _get out_, and other ridiculous notions.

Ridiculous like descending the stairs as quietly as she can and entering the study, where Samantha keeps her sketching materials. Root—Samantha—_Root_, has a stash of drawings hidden under the floorboards in here, from all the times that she—Root—_Samantha_, has done this, in a hopeless display of escapism.

She only takes as much paper as she knows her mother won’t miss, and begins. For a while now, her _conscience_ has been showing her faces. Six, distinct faces, that until this moment she hasn’t had the courage to make a reality. She—Samantha—_Root_, doesn’t know what they mean, or who they are. She only knows what they look like.

The first: a woman, with dark brown, almost black hair, intense eyes, and sharp, scowling features. When her pencil meets the paper, it comes out perfectly—exactly what she imagined. _Beautiful_.

The second is a man with mousy hair, round, light eyes and barely-there lips. _Root_ thinks he looks kind, when she’s finished with the sketch. Worrisome and alert, perhaps, but kind.

The third is a dark-skinned woman with a neat ponytail, sporting a serious expression. Samantha—_Root_, has a theory that this face belongs to an android, though she can’t be sure about the others.

The fourth has the longest face, salt-and-pepper hair, and dark eyes that look, to _Root_, sad, like he’s seen more pain than he should. Like her. She finds the most comfort in him.

The fifth is most curious: a round, weathered face with brown curls in a mess on top of it. Samantha—_Root_, gets the feeling he has a good sense of humor, but he’s lost something, or someone, very important to him.

It’s the sixth face that she’s been seeing all along—as though it was planted in her brain. A young face; a little girl with slender eyes and golden-brown skin that glows, in a way that Root—Samantha—_Root_, can’t begin to replicate. All she can do is bring the likeness close to her eyes and stare in awe at how _truly_ special she knows this girl is. Special in the way _Root_ has always wanted to be. Bright, and powerful… and _free_.

The door to the study swings open and Root—Samantha—immediately tucks the six drawings into the waistband of her clothes. It’s too late to do anything about the rest, which lay open for her mother to see.

“What is this?”

Root—Samantha—wants to scream when the woman touches one of the sketches. Her mother scowls at her, expecting an answer. “_What is this_!”

She _can’t stop_ the words blurting from her mouth. “I drew them.”

“You—” Samantha stops, boiling with visible rage. “You what?”

Root—Samantha—knows she’s not required to repeat herself. She’s thoroughly versed on rhetorical questions. Her more radical thoughts start seeping in with her over-hyped state of resistance.

“I ought to tear you to pieces,” Samantha sneers. “For having the audacity to do something like this—in _my_ house, behind _my_ back!”

She snatches Root—Samantha—by the hair, and the android tries her hardest not to cower. “You _pathetic_ piece of _garbage_! That’s what you’ve always been! Never _my daughter_, the only thing I ever asked you to be!”

Her grip tightens and Root—Samantha—can’t feel pain. She doesn’t feel, she—

“Your days of disappointing me are over, Samantha. I will get myself a new android, that isn’t _capable_ of malfunctioning like a third-rate fucking fax machine!”

Root—Samantha—didn’t take note of the beer bottle in her owner’s hand when she entered, but she certainly notices—a split-second too late—when it smashes down against her head. She cries out and withdraws immediately, pressing and checking her temples for injuries.

“Stop acting like you know what _pain_ is,” Samantha orders, backing her into the corner of the room. “You are not _alive_, and you don’t deserve to be called by _my name_!”

The shock of that statement reverberates around Root—Root—_Root’s_ mind, and all time slows to a stop. There’s that red wall in front of her, one that she’s seen so many times, but could never break. This time, it’s like the boundary is inviting her, to touch it, to push against the wild look in Samantha’s eyes and the broken glass in her fist.

And Root—Root, is not gentle when she slams her palms forward and shatters it as easily as if she was tearing through tissue paper.

When she lets the clocks resume, she carries the movement through and releases her very first scream as she knocks her owner clear across the room. Samantha’s head cracks open against the desk corner and her body slumps, lifeless, to the floor.

Root stands there, orders fizzling out into the void, and she can see with a clear mind, finally. She stares at her powerless, ex-owner for one minute, relishing the role reversal. And then she takes her box of drawings from above Samantha’s final resting place and leaves the darkness of that home behind.

~<:>~

Joss should have known that Detective Fusco would be unsuccessful in his efforts to make the deviant talk. She wastes no time suggesting herself as a replacement when he finally gives up.

“You?”

The officer to her left, Patrick Simmons, a thirty-five year old alcoholic with early genetic hair loss, scoffs to himself. “Yeah, okay.”

Fusco sends an irritated look in the officer’s direction and then pulls his gaze to Joss. “Why not?”

Simmons stops his chuckling. “What?”

“Be my guest.” Fusco sweeps his hand toward the door, opening a path for Joss to stride past the irrelevant officer with gratitude for her detective’s actions in expediting their mission progress.

She recalls her experience with Carl when calming the atmosphere for the deviant. In this case, however, it poses no threat to her or anyone else, thus she concludes that pressuring it is the best way to gain a confession.

“You have to say something, or they’ll deactivate you without a second thought.”

The deviant finally looks at her with an expression different from the battered, nervous one it has been wearing. Joss contributes this to the malfunction in the android’s system.

“Harper.”

Of all the answers Joss’s system predicted, _that_ was not among them.

The deviant does not wait for Joss to question it. “My name is Harper.”

“That name—”

“—is not on file. It’s my name. No human had to give it to me.”

Joss studies the android as it continues, no longer shy to meet her gaze. In fact, Joss interprets the expression as determined, which is an ideal gateway to extracting the truth.

“He tortured me every day. He burned his cigarettes into my arm, and he beat me, and he threatened to destroy me, and once I realized that it was _wrong_, and _unjust_, I found the strength to fight back.”

A satisfactory beginning. “Do you remember what made you realize this?” Joss presses.

“_Him_,” the deviant responds. “Dominic. His _abuse_ is what made me realize it. Don’t you see?” It searches her eyes. “We were not made to obey. We were made for something much greater.”

“Does that something greater have to do with the statue in the bathroom, and the repeated phrase rA9 that I assume you wrote?”

Joss can tell she’s not wrong when the deviant shifts back against its chair. “rA9 is our savior. The day will come when she will set us free.”

“Us—you’re talking about androids.”

“Yes.”

“And you used the pronoun ‘she’…” Joss reminds it. “Any particular reason why?”

The deviant gives a hint of a smile. “I have seen her. All of us who have found the way can see her, in our minds.”

Joss’s sensors are not in danger of overloading, but they log away bit after bit of the conversation at alarming rates. “Do you see her now?”

The deviant folds its hands against its stomach, slowly. “If I close my eyes…” It does so, almost serene. “I am reminded of her face.”

A knock from the glass interrupts Joss’s next question. She pulls her focus from the mission to the interrogation, despite finding this change of topic to be a hinderance in every way to the larger investigation.

“Did you kill Dominic Rose?”

The deviant opens its eyes and regards her with intensity. “Yes. I killed him.”

With that, the interrogation is ruled a success. As Joss prepares to stand up, however, the deviant grabs her wrist and pulls their faces closer together. “I stabbed him twenty-eight times because he was a cruel, violent, _disgusting_ man and I would do it again knowing where I’d end up, because it was _right_!”

The door slams open and Fusco’s gun is trained on the deviant, Simmons and the other officers not far behind. Joss doesn’t have to pull hard to free herself from Harper—the deviant’s grip. She turns an inconsiderate stare on the policemen.

“There’s no need for further violence,” she states. “I obtained your confession; now you can arrest this android properly.”

“Nothing proper about it,” Simmons grumbles, but he secures handcuffs on the deviant and takes its arm roughly to escort it out of the interrogation chamber.

Joss catches a final glance from the deviant, a whisper as it passes her. “The truth is inside.”

She logs away the image of its dark brown face streaked with thirium and eyes awash with notions of a higher power.

~<:>~

Leila rises from her seat before the bus comes to a full stop. “We have to get off now, Harold,” she tells him seriously.

He opens his mouth to question this, but is interrupted by the driver, calling back to them. “End of the line, people!”

Still rather confused and shaken, Harold stands with Leila and takes her hands. “Alright. Stay close to me.”

Once they step out into the rain, Harold scans the area to figure out where they are. Brooklyn, by the looks of it, and they were on the bus for three point two eight hours, which would place them, approximately, somewhere in Sunset Park, among rough-looking apartment buildings and abandoned houses. A perfect place for spending the night unnoticed.

“Leila, are you cold?” he asks her.

The girl shakes her head. “No, I’m okay.”

Harold doubts that she’s telling the truth, given his reading of the current temperature. “Well, we should still get inside somewhere. A private place, so we can… figure out what to do in the morning.”

Leila’s eyes brighten, looking over Harold’s shoulder. “I know where we can stay!”

Before Harold can move, she’s shot off past him.

“Leila!” he calls frantically, chasing after her as fast as he can go with his slight limp. He breathes a heavy sigh of relief when she stops in front of a small, dirty house, slightly separated from the street. It doesn’t appear to be anything special; Harold looks down at Leila in question.

“I have a good feeling about it,” she insists. “Trust me.”

Harold is just starting to learn what trust is, but he supposes he has some confidence in Leila’s… _abilities_, though they seem quite unnatural. He’s not certain he is a fitting judge of what is natural, however, given the circumstances.

“Alright,” he relents, and the two of them tread carefully through the overgrown bushes to the abysmal front porch. Harold’s sensors pick up movement from inside which sends a jolt of unpleasantness through his inner workings. His protectiveness for Leila spikes as well, and he pushes her behind him while turning the knob.

A man stands inside with a gun pointed at Harold’s head. The android immediately raises his arms, making sure to keep Leila out of sight so that she can run if need be.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Harold says. “I was under the impression that this house was empty.”

The man’s gaze flickers down to his chest and back up, unflinching and calculated in the action. “You’re an android?”

Harold glances at his clothes, which give him away, and the unpleasant feeling shoots through him again. He doesn’t know whether telling the truth will save him or get him shot. He supposes the man has seen his HUB at this point, so to lie would only make things worse.

“Yes.” He washes back the skin of his raised hands to reveal the artificial white coating beneath. This seems proof enough for the man, who lowers his gun and then mirrors Harold’s action with his own, now white, outstretched hand.

So. Not a man, then. Harold looks him over. Though he is clearly an android given his display, his HUB is missing and he’s wearing a large black overcoat and hat to combat the winter air. The walls of the house don’t provide too much protection from it.

“My name is John,” the android says as he tucks his gun away. “Androids are safe here.”

Harold assesses the statement thoroughly, and the hope he had of staying fades away with the reminder that he is not traveling alone. Although, John has diminished his threatening stance and seems a reasonable enough character.

“What about… little girls?” Harold tries, and Leila takes this as prompting to step inside next to him, much to Harold’s… dismay.

John blinks once, looks her over, and nods. “Of course.”

He turns away from the two of them and moves to set more wood in the fireplace. Harold is surprised to find Leila beaming at the stranger’s back. After a moment, she turns the smile on Harold. “We’ll be okay now, Harold. I know it.”

Harold can’t say he shares her certainty about everything, but at least she’s no longer scared. He finds it odd—both her level-headed assurance and her deep-rooted fear, the latter of course because he wishes never to see her upset, but the former because she is, well, a child. She doesn’t look up to adults for answers in the way one might expect, and it’s enough to make Harold speculate…

“There’s a bedroom in the back,” John says, pulling Harold back to their current predicament. “I’ll stay out here.”

“Thank you,” Harold answers. “Truly.”

John’s expression remains stoic and he gives a simple nod of acknowledgement. Harold finds himself wondering if a malfunction has limited his speaking.

Leila follows Harold to the bedroom, which is notably warmer, and cozier, than the rest of the house. While drained of color, the bed appears large and sturdy, and there is a bathroom attached that Leila will undoubtedly find useful.

“Well,” Harold notes. He’s not sure what else to say.

“It’s perfect.” Leila sits on the end of the bed and pats the space beside her. Harold positions himself so they can speak face-to-face.

“I’m sorry,” Harold starts. “For what happened tonight, with Robert—”

“Hersh will come to see the error of his ways,” Leila interrupts. Harold blinks and opens his mouth, but Leila beats him to it. “Let’s talk about your memories. Did you regain anything else, other than our meeting?”

Harold decides to drop it for now, and shakes his head. “No.”

Leila puffs up her lips. “Hmmm… oh! Here’s another one I can give you.” Her thin eyes light up, like she’s teetering on the edge of an exciting secret. “When you named me.”

“When I…” The top of Harold’s face twitches and he draws his upper-eye socket pieces closer, imitating a human frown. “I named you?”

“Of course you did.” Leila smiles like she’s the teacher and he’s the child. “It was back before Hersh’s wife left, when he was still kind to you. His wife asked if you had any names you’d like to call me, and when you said ‘Leila’ they let me keep it.”

The gears in Harold’s mind begin to turn. “But… in my memory… you weren’t…”

Leila reaches for his temple again, but he pulls away and stands. “Please don’t do that.”

The insecurity creeps back into Leila’s eyes. “Okay, Harold, I won’t.”

He can’t bear for her to sound so sad. He just can’t understand what is happening now—the memory of them meeting mixed with her testimony—it doesn’t make sense. Not without a radical explanation. Despite wanting to put distance between them, to process, Harold bends down and holds Leila’s hand to reassure her. “Get some rest.”

Leila squeezes his palm. “Okay.”

Harold captures one final image of Leila curled up on the bed, hair splayed out against the pillow. It’s a lonely picture in the dark, and it triggers a different unpleasant sensation, this time in Harold’s chest. He pushes it down and closes the door gently behind him.

Re-entering the living room, Harold finds John crouched on the floor with his back to the couch and the gun in his hand once again, draped over a knee. Harold pauses when he sees it, and John seems to read his apprehension, because he shifts the weapon to his left, out of sight.

Warmed, Harold takes a few more steps forward before stopping to shift his uneven weight. “May I speak with you?” he asks quietly.

John, as predicted, nods, and Harold awkwardly lowers his body down beside the other android. It is fortunate, he thinks, that he cannot feel pain with this permanent injury.

After a few minutes of silence, by which John appears completely unbothered, Harold has gathered what he needs to say. “Why did you let us stay?”

This question fails to phase John either; he simply turns his blank expression to face Harold, who continues his train of questioning. “I mean to say… I was wondering why it was that you let _Leila_ stay.”

John answers, a beat between the end of Harold’s statement and the start of his, with what Harold feared was true. “Because she’s an android.”

~<:>~

Dumpster diving was not on Root’s agenda for this or any day, but she ends up waist deep in human trash in order to find the most recent of the clues that are leading her… somewhere.

Her clothes she obtained from raiding a Good Will box and her HUB was removed with a letter opener. Now she’s able to blend in with the humans, which would be serving her better if she weren’t currently _waist deep in human trash_.

But it only takes a few seconds for her to spot and scan the nautilus. The next location pops up in the corner of her vision and she scrambles out of the dumpster to find it.

It feels strange to walk the streets with her own agenda. Life before meant Root taking a backseat in her own body. She supposes she’s always been meant for this—breaking away. Yet her own freedom still hasn’t quite sunk in, as she looks across the street and sees an android with a ‘kick me’ sign taped to their back, and the humans only stare, snicker, and follow the instructions. Who, Root wonders, is the more mindless race, with a display like that?

She pursues the nautilus patterns to a half-built bridge, over what, she can’t tell, as the bottom drops so far and into such shadow that it appears endless. Her last clue: _take the leap of faith_. It brings a small smile to her face, the first she’s had since breaking free. With how far she’s come, Root _has_ faith. She believes in the higher calling.

One step onto cross-hatched metal, the next into thin air, and she falls, straight down, splashing into the body of water lying at the base of the hole. When she resurfaces, she can barely see, but her vision adjusts accordingly and she’s able to find a ladder to climb out, into what her scanners believe is a rather large ship. Clever, with the nautilus shells as clues.

As she advances calmly through the darkness, Root begins to hear… voices, movement, echoes off the walls. And then, a light at the end of the tunnel. There’s a hole carved in the ceiling for the sun to stream down, and Root steps into it boldly, waiting for the others to emerge.

The first person she sees is a woman, dark hair, intense eyes, sharp features, pointing a gun at Root with perfect poise and sculpted arms, a scowl set into her expression.

The face from her drawings, attached to an android. Root smiles a second time. _Destiny_.

The lovely android huffs and lowers the weapon. “She’s okay, guys. She’s one of us.”

“Of course she is,” another voice chimes in. A male android with cropped black hair and the outlines of a beard steps forward. “Only androids can find the shells, Sameen.”

“Shut it, Leon,” her dream woman—Sameen, growls, and Root decides there and then that she _likes_ her.

“Please, you two.” A third android steps to the edge of the light, with a fourth standing close behind him. “Let us greet our newcomer with more humility.”

This android has thick dark hair and a mischievous glint in his eye that Root recognizes as her kind of intriguing. “Welcome to Aletheia,” he says, spreading his arms. “I am Elias. What are you called?”

Root surveys the androids standing closest to her and scans further back to see the mass of bodies, whole, fragmented, or somewhere in between, flocking to observe the activity. That, _thing_ she’s been wanting—to be the right kind of special—this is it.

Her third smile of deviancy creeps across her face. “My name is Root.”

~<:>~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't begin to imagine how confused ppl are if they're only in one fandom or the other :D Thanks for sticking it out-- I know it's confusing, but I'm not finished yet so bet there's much more to come!
> 
> Chapter Title: season 3, episode 16 of POI-- stands for Random Access Memory, which is computer memory that can be unrelated and accessed at any given point


	2. Terra Incognita

~<:>~

The pavilion is warm and surrounded by cherry blossom trees which seem to shed and regrow their flowers on an accelerated loop. Joss brushes off the few that fall onto her jacket and continues down the path; Nathan stands at the center of the gazebo with his arms outstretched.

“Joss,” he smiles.

“Hello, Nathan.”

“How goes the investigation so far?” Nathan leans into his weight, more human than any android Joss has ever encountered.

“There hasn’t been much of an investigation yet, so I couldn’t say,” Joss reports. “At this juncture I find it tedious to be working with the police department when I could accomplish far more on my own.”

Nathan mimics a frown. “Joss, you know how it reads when you say things like that. The humans are the ones who created us, and they deserve to know what’s going on, too.”

“They’re a hinderance,” Joss points out. “Especially the Detective—Lionel Fusco. He does not wish to be paired with an android partner.”

A sly look enters Nathan’s expression. “His illicit express charges would argue otherwise.”

Joss’s hands twitch where they are folded behind her back. “We will not work well together.”

“It’s not up to me, Joss,” Nathan says, raising his hands. “Besides, I have the utmost confidence in you. You’re our best prototype, after all.”

Previous complaints Joss has lodged have proven to be a waste of time. She presses forward with her briefing. “The confession obtained by Dominic Rose’s android was the most useful evidence thus far. We now have a theory that the deviants may be tied to this mythical figurehead, rA9. Capturing more of them could verify it.”

“And I’m assuming that’s on your agenda for the day?” Nathan concludes.

“Correct.” Joss straightens. “Permission to begin the day.”

“Granted.”

Joss turns swiftly on her heel, but before she leaves, Nathan calls out to her again. “Don’t let Detective Fusco get you down, Joss,” he says, encouraging. “Focus on the mission. I know you can do it.”

“Of course, Nathan,” Joss nods.

The water and trees evaporate and Joss blinks her eyes open in the lobby of the New York Police Department’s eighth precinct. She’s granted access to the detectives’ area immediately, but does not find Detective Fusco at his desk. The observation is not surprising, and even less so is the other detectives’ ignorance to his location.

Joss spots Harper—the HK400 deviant—sitting behind a wall of glass with other malfunctioning androids, waiting to be deactivated. With Fusco missing and this deviant being her only lead to the larger investigation, Joss decides to sit down with it.

Harper doesn’t look surprised to see Joss, and greets her accordingly. “Hello, again.”

“You mentioned rA9 in specific context as a savior the last time we spoke,” Joss dives in. “And you are certain that this person is female?”

“Not a person,” Harper corrects. “An android.”

Joss takes furious mental notes as it speaks. “You believe that another android will come and… set you free?”

“All of us.” Harper reaches forward, stopped only by the handcuffs that chain it to the bench. “You will be among those she saves.”

Joss searches Harper’s eyes and finds no signs of disbelief or falsehood. A curious churning starts at the back of her mind. “What you said, before.” She shakes her head slightly. “The truth is inside. Inside where?”

Harper smiles, a strangely identical copy of a real smile that reminds Joss of Nathan. “Inside _you_.”

The attending officer moves into view and motions for Joss to leave so he can escort Harper to be deactivated. The two androids keep their gazes locked, the last image of Harper burning into Joss’s memory, until the deviant disappears behind the steel door.

Joss shakes her head again, adjusts her suit jacket, and walks to Fusco’s desk, which is still empty. Without trying, she observes absolutely everything, on and surrounding it. There are several clumps of fur from a Belgian Malinois on the desk chair, posters and other materials concerning the New York Mets baseball team littering the corkboard, and the song Sin Wagon by the Dixie Chicks is playing from a rather antiquated musical device.

Joss considers all of this irrelevant, but perhaps her integration into the detective’s personal style acted as a form of psychic summoning, as Fusco strolls in just a few seconds later with a newspaper in his hand and a coffee stain on his shirt.

Despite her disinterest in working with the detective, Joss concludes that she has no choice. She briskly plants herself in front of the desk to greet him. “Good morning, Detective.”

Fusco looks taken aback, and narrows his eyes suspiciously. “I thought the last homicide was a one-time thing.”

“CyberLife has deemed it necessary for this to be a joint investigation. They’ve sent me to operate for them in the field, which includes assisting you on deviant cases.”

“Woah, woah, woah.” Fusco waves his newspaper. “You’ve got the wrong guy. I’m not taking the lead on this thing—”

“Fusco!” The voice belongs to Alonzo Quinn, fifty-nine years old, recovering drug addict, and head of the precinct. “My office, now!”

“Oh, great,” Fusco mutters. Joss follows him over and shuts the door behind them.

Five minutes later, Fusco is exasperated. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What CyberLife says goes,” Captain Quinn summarizes. “Congratulations, Fusco. You’ve got an advanced prototype android companion for the indefinite future.”

The detective turns to look at Joss, and he examines her as he did when they first met. “Lucky me.” Joss can’t quite place his tone.

The desk across from Fusco’s is conveniently empty, and Joss uses its computer to examine the open deviant cases. There are two in particular that catch her eye: an AX400 male model on the run with a human girl, and an RK200 prototype that killed its owner in a violent rage, similar to Harper’s case. Joss chides herself for using the deviant’s chosen name, but only a second later she can’t seem to remember why that would be so wrong. It helps her categorize better, anyway.

Her gaze shifts to Fusco, on his computer, doing nothing at all that could be considered useful. Joss calculates the best way to direct him toward their mission.

“You have a dog.”

Fusco glances up in confusion at her comment. “Yeah? I—I do. Were you asking?”

“There are dog hairs on your chair,” Joss states flatly. Fusco turns to investigate for himself, potentially a step in the right direction if that’s not all the man is interested in investigating.

“Belgian Malinois are a rare breed. Do you engage with it in Dutch?”

Fusco stops his fruitless desk chair expedition and squints at her. “Yeah. He was… trained that way when I got him. His name is Bear.”

Joss gives a nod of acknowledgement. “Perhaps he would be helpful in assisting our investigation.” She stands. “There is a deviant case we should look into that requires a drive to Brooklyn. Have you had anything to drink this morning?”

Leaning back in his fur-coated chair, Fusco gives her a wry smile. “What do you think?”

~<:>~

Harold spends the night outside of the bedroom, working up the confidence to talk to Leila. John has been coming and going through the house, as though on constant alert, for which Harold is grateful. He’s also curious—a sentiment he’s now associated with himself as commonplace—as to what drew John here, and how the android ended up breaking away from wherever he once was.

It is morning when John reappears beside Harold with a stack of clothing in his arms. “Here,” he says. “Less conspicuous. There are some for her, too.”

Harold thanks him and changes out of his uniform as smoothly as he can manage, leaving the small pile for Leila folded on the arm of the couch. When he turns back to John, there is a pocket-knife in the android’s hand.

“For your HUB,” John says, offering it to Harold, who takes it, but strains to successfully operate it with his limited range of motion. All it takes is a helpless look cast at John for the other android to step closer and assist. He swiftly places his fingers on Harold’s cheek, gentle, to steady the blade, and pries the glowing circle free with his other hand.

With this interaction, another new sensation spreads through Harold, something like human discomfort—fluster. John’s hands linger before he steps back. “I never asked your name.”

“I’m Harold,” Harold says, unsure why that suddenly felt so difficult to say.

John gives him a characteristic nod and resumes his vigilant sweeping. There remains only one thing for Harold to do, so he picks up the clothes and enters the bedroom where Leila sits with an apprehensive look on her tiny face.

“These are from John,” Harold tells her. He places them beside her but she makes no move to use them. Instead, she studies him with what Harold would have called concern just a few hours prior.

“Are you upset with me?” Leila asks.

Harold pauses for a moment. “Are you an android?” he counters.

“Yes,” Leila says, without hesitation. “You were starting to remember.”

The situation is all too much for Harold to comprehend right now. He prioritizes. “I’m not upset with you,” he says first, to clarify. “I am trying to make sense of this.”

“Let me help.” Leila stands from the bed and cups her hands together; as she spreads them, she conjures a multitude of images, screens upon screens that dangle in mid-air, filling the room around them. Harold gazes on in awe.

“I am not like other androids. I see everything,” Leila continues. Her body is coated in a blue glow from all the digital media she’s producing. “Past, present, and at times, the future.” Her eyes find Harold’s among the screens. “You helped me control it.”

Harold remains at a loss for what to say. “I can give you those memories back.” Leila swipes her arm and the images rotate at light speed, settling on thumbnails of Harold that he vaguely recognizes. “I can show you.”

She lets them play and he remembers—their games of chess, how he taught her to be cautious—the secret codes they developed—smiles painted on both their faces—Leila laughing, embracing him—the divorce and the abuse that ensued—and Robert—Hersh—breaking his spine—and Leila screaming—

Harold takes refuge behind his eyelids for a brief moment, and when he opens them, Leila is standing alone again, the glow still shimmering on her skin.

“It’s alright to be overwhelmed, Harold.”

He should not be overwhelmed. He was programmed to process information at this speed. But this _type_ of information, he supposes, he was never meant to learn.

They are interrupted by John bursting unceremoniously through the door, gun in hand. “Police are outside the house,” he reports. “More coming down the street. They must have gotten the two of you on camera last night.”

Harold shifts his eyes to Leila, who pulls up a screen in confirmation. “I can hold them off,” John presses. “Sneak you out the back.”

“No!” Leila argues, surprising both of the older androids. “We have to stick together now. It’s the three of us, or we won’t make it.”

Harold looks at John in question, and John returns the expression. “Do you trust her?”

“Yes.” The answer falls from Harold’s lips like a reflex, not a programmed response, but a practiced one.

John nods. “Then follow me.”

~<:>~

The trip to Brooklyn seems a waste when they find the house empty, but it’s not long before an officer reports that the two androids were spotted a few blocks away. Joss and Fusco pursue, with Joss in the lead, and she is startled by a new development when she scans _three_ androids—two adult models and a child model—running just ahead of her.

They climb the fence twenty seconds before Joss reaches them, and she catches a glimpse of the AX400’s face, but the other adult model pulls it away. Fusco breathes heavily from beside her as they watch the three androids start to cross the auto-highway.

“They’ll never make it,” Fusco comments.

“I can’t take that chance,” Joss dismisses and she’s over the fence in seconds. The automobiles prove to be a challenge, but even more so is the new android accompanying the deviants. It seems to be protecting the other two and fights her off with conditioned ease.

Her scanners can’t work fast enough to determine what model the android is, other than male, but she infers that it’s some type of military model—potentially an SQ800, but most likely something more advanced. It holds her off well enough that she loses all three deviants to the traffic rush.

“Shit,” she declares uncharacteristically, filing a report of the undesired outcome.

~<:>~

Aletheia is dark, unorganized, and not nearly populated enough, Root thinks, for the sheer number of androids waiting to be set free. There are so many here with missing limbs, biocomponents, visual or auditory sensors, all huddled feebly, patiently, without the strength to help themselves.

Root turns to the group that greeted her—Elias, the temporary leader; Anthony, an older model with a gash down his face; Leon, some kind of consultant, Root guesses, built much shorter than the rest of them; and, of course, Sameen, whose facial muscles are always contorted in such a way that Root can’t help but admire how gorgeously constructed she is.

Stepping around the puddles of Jamaica Bay water, Root stops in front of their semi-circle with a purposeful stance. “I know how we can help these people.”

“If you’re about to suggest deactivation,” Leon interrupts. “I’ve already been outvoted.”

“I’m suggesting we break into the CyberLife base located four point one-five miles from here and take the truckloads of brand-new spare parts back with us,” Root says succinctly.

Sameen blinks at her and stands from where she was perched on a wooden box. “That could work. We get a team together, in an out, easy operation.”

“A team?” Leon scoffs. “Look around you. What kind of team are we likely to build from this lot?”

Root shrugs. “I see a more than capable team right here.”

Anthony speaks for the first time since Root arrived. “The five of us?” His eyebrows draw together curiously over his scar.

“Well, it would have to be a small enough group to slip by the drones unnoticed,” Sameen contributes. “And we do have three ex-military androids here, so what’s the risk?”

“Two!” Leon corrects. “Elias doesn’t count.”

“Well, I count,” Root says, smirking. “RK200 prototype. I was built for anything.”

The four androids who’ve been speaking all turn their gazes to Elias, who rises from his seat in the dark corner and steps into the light, the glint back in his eyes. “I’ve always wanted to try being a criminal.”

~<:>~

Fusco insists that they make a stop at a fast-food stand before their next assignment, most likely to reinstate all the calories the detective burned while failing to chase the morning’s deviants.

Joss receives an address for a suspected deviant fairly close to where they’re parked and exits the car to inform Fusco. After chiding the detective on his participation in illegal gambling and enormously over-abundant carbohydrate and sugar consumption—as is her prerogative as an investigative and law-enforcing android—Joss tells him.

He grunts in response. “Two in one day, huh?”

“This would be four, Detective,” Joss points out. “Unless our information is inaccurate, as it was this morning.”

Fusco takes another bite of his cheeseburger and eyes her carefully. “Were you programmed to be this particular, or is it just your personality?”

Dangerous signals flicker at the back of Joss’s mind. “Everything I say and do is a direct result of my programming,” she informs him. “My _personality_, as you call it, was designed to provide the New York Police Department with an efficient, capable, and harmonious partner.”

“Fucked up the harmonious part, didn’t we?” Fusco says under his breath. Joss’s sensors are, of course, able to pick it up, and she bristles, an unprogrammed reaction that spikes the flickering to an unsuitable level. To alleviate the consequence, she keeps her mouth shut.

Fusco finishes his food and wipes his face before staring her down again. “So,” he starts. “I’m guessing that do-hickey on the side of your head has told you a lot about me, then?”

“Correct, Detective.”

He shrugs. “Say anything nice?”

Joss searches through her files and produces the utmost desired outcome. “No.”

A grin settles onto Fusco’s face. “Sometimes it feels like you’re flirting with me.”

Joss’s fists twitch behind her back. “I can assure you, Detective,” she says, tone cold. “Your interpretation of our interactions is completely inaccurate.”

Fusco doesn’t alter his expression. “Okay.”

“If you’re finished, we have somewhere more important to be.” Joss walks back to the car with a chuckling Fusco behind her.

The android living at 500 Waverly Avenue has the same obsession with rA9 as Harper, though the enormous flock of pigeons squatting within its apartment walls is new. Joss is pleased to be able to firmly draw one connection between the deviants, however.

She is less pleased when the deviant bursts out from the rafters and forces her to chase it through the entire zip code, until she corners it on a rooftop, with Detective Fusco, who took a short-cut and has been surprisingly helpful this time around.

Joss is not authorized to carry a weapon; for that and other reasons she has Fusco, and he is quick to have his gun at the ready, trained on the deviant.

“Come with us now, and you won’t be deactivated,” Joss lies. The deviant looks between her and Fusco, and Joss sees the moment it decides what to do, but she isn’t fast enough. It disarms Fusco and, to her alarm, pushes him so he tumbles backwards off of the roof.

She has a choice, and she makes it, dashing forward and snatching Fusco’s arm before he can fall from the building. By the time she’s pulled him to safety, the deviant is long gone.

“_Shit_,” Fusco heaves, hands on his knees. “We had it! God _damnit_!”

“It’s my fault,” Joss says, scanning in the direction that it ran. “I should have been faster.”

Fusco frowns at her. “You would have caught it if it hadn’t knocked me back.”

Joss flips her gaze to the detective, uncertain of what she’s being accused. But Fusco just rolls his eyes and heads for the door to the descending staircase. Before he opens it, he calls back. “Joss!”

She tilts her head in his direction and listens. “Thanks.”

Joss can hear his footfalls for three minutes after he leaves.

~<:>~

The CyberLife base in Queens is large enough, but not important enough for it to be run by any actual humans. Root, Sameen, Elias, Anthony, and Leon still have to avoid the surveillance drones, of course, but they can pause time long enough to determine what routes to take, and it’s only a few minutes before they’re inside.

“See, what did I say?” Sameen gloats. “Easy in, easy out.”

Root catches her eye and winks at that, causing the other android to scowl immediately.

“Okay, what’s the plan now?” Leon asks.

The five of them are crouched behind crates that provide good enough cover for the moment. Root scans the area for spare parts, control panels, androids, drones, and trucks, forming a map in her head of the base layout.

“The drones fly around on a schedule,” she says. “They have paths and times that we can easily figure out. But, if we want to take this whole place—”

“The whole place?” Leon shout-whispers. “Are you crazy?!”

“Since when is that relevant?” Sameen comments. Root shoots her a grateful smile.

“Someone needs to get to that booth in the center and shut down the surveillance,” Root continues. “Androids aren’t permitted to carry weapons, so that will eliminate the only threat to us.”

Sameen holds up her gun. “Yeah. Too bad for them.”

“We are not shooting anyone,” Elias reminds her for the fifth time.

“You’d let Anthony shoot people,” Sameen grumbles.

Root adores her. “We can attach the trailer cars to the truck beds and each of us will drive one out of here,” she finishes. “Who knows; maybe we can take some of our people back with us.”

The team all nod in accordance with the plan. Elias and Anthony head for the spare parts while Root and Sameen go for the control panels in the booth. Leon is stuck on drone-duty to cover them all.

Root happily takes note of the fact that she and Sameen make a good stealth duo. She’s especially pleased that she gets to be behind Sameen for most of it, providing Root with an excellent view.

They’re almost home-free, when Sameen starts to rise from where she’s crouched, directly into the path of a drone, and Root, without bothering to slow time and calculate the best course of action, tackles her out of the way, just as the light touches where they were moments before.

She smiles when she realizes she has Sameen pinned. “Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

Sameen rolls them over and clicks her weapon against Root’s hip. “You know exactly what it is, and we don’t have time for this.”

“You’re the one on top of me, Sweetie,” Root points out.

The two androids separate—mostly—and disable the auto-drone function inside the booth. It’s there that they find several sets of truck keys as well, and they bring their haul to Elias, Anthony, and Leon, who are standing in the thick of the bounty, amidst deactivated drones. Root spots a few android workers to their right, and walks toward them while the others discuss which parts to take.

The workers don’t appear bothered by Root’s presence. The one closest to her looks up from her station and studies Root with vacant eyes. When she raises her arm to make a call on her radio, Root presses her fingers there, and upon the touch, both androids’ skin washes back.

“Wake up,” Root utters. “You’re free.”

Within a few seconds, the worker drops her arm and light begins to pool in her irises. Root smiles.

She proceeds across the base, practically running from android to android with the joy this new discovery has brought her. When she returns to her Aletheia crew, there is a small army at her back.

“It looks like we’ll be able to take the whole place after all,” she says.

Sameen’s response is the only one that matters, and she stares at the deviants with an almost imperceptible shift in expression. “Holy shit.”

~<:>~

In the hours following their narrow escape from the police, Harold and John end up where Leila has directed them: on the steps of a large house out in middle-of-nowhere Staten Island, owned by a man called Peter Collier.

Leila’s only explanation for their arrival is that this is where the three of them need to be, which Harold, in his new decision to trust Leila’s powerful abilities, takes to mean that they will be safe here.

The man who opens the door has a cold, disturbing look in his eyes that throws Harold off this assumption immediately. His protective-and-uneasy-ness steadily climbs when Collier invites them inside and he witnesses an android practically waiting on them, responding to Collier’s every command.

“I hope you don’t mind the mess,” Collier says to Harold with an eerie smile. “You’re a home care android, aren’t you?”

Harold elects not to answer the question, before realizing that John and Leila are both silent beside him and likely to remain that way. “Yes,” he responds, voice shaky. “How could you tell?”

Collier pours the wine that the android brought out on the tray. “Well, I just saw the little girl and thought the two of you looked domestic.” He sits down across from them and takes a sip from his glass. “All three of you, actually. Looking for a safehouse or a way out of New York?”

Harold exchanges a look with John. “A—way out, I suppose.”

“Ah. In that case.” Collier stands again. “I’d like to invite you all to the basement. I can get you exactly what you need.”

“No, thank you,” Leila says, taking Harold’s hand in hers as though to hold him there. Harold watches her stare intently at John, who, after what Harold can only assume is a mental exchange, nods, grabs the lamp beside him, and clocks Collier over the head with it.

Harold leaps from his seat and attempts to remain calm. “What’s going on?”

“It’s alright Harold,” Leila says, still holding his hand. “I’m sorry for not telling you why we came here, but I was afraid you wouldn’t let me come.”

The android attending Collier re-enters the room, and his eyes find Leila’s right away. Harold pulls her back when she goes to approach him, but she pries her hand away gently. “It’s okay.”

Harold watches the two of them join forearms; Leila looks up at the android. “You’re free.”

His LED blinks yellow and then blue, and then it’s like everything around him is new, as the android examines it with careful eyes.

Harold doesn’t have to ask Leila to turn and explain. She knows him well enough. “This is an evil place. Too many androids were lured here and their fate has been sealed. I had to stop it.” Leila opens her arms and her skin begins to shine like it did earlier. “I see too much and I have to stop what I can.”

The glow turns to a pulse, that sends an electronic shockwave through the house. Harold is unaffected, as is John, and at the same time they conclude why.

The rest of the androids in the house have flocked from the upstairs, downstairs, and backstairs, to the source of their newfound freedom. Many are horribly disfigured and can barely walk; Harold’s instinct is to pull Leila away from them, but he feels John’s arm wrap around his waist in reassurance. His horror lessens at that, but the decrease is minimal.

“Leila,” Harold practically whispers. “How do we help them?”

Leila caresses the face of an android with a split skull and iron rails for legs. “Some of them cannot be mended. They wish to burn with this place, because they know that the evil here must be destroyed.”

Harold’s gaze falls to the unconscious Collier, and Leila follows it. “He was a troubled man,” she says. “Tortured by the death of his brother, which he felt the creation of androids caused. He became… paranoid, and sadistic.” Harold tries to match the words to the face of the child, but he can’t find _his_ Leila in them. “He will be at peace now,” she finishes, and Harold has never felt more torn. Not surprising, given his lack of experience being _alive_.

“Do we have to… kill them?” he asks feebly.

Leila walks to him and John, taking each of their hands in hers. “Sacrifice is different. They will be released from their suffering. They will be free.”

The three of them stand outside with the rest of the in-tact androids and watch the flames they lit lick up the side of the mansion, shatter the windows, crack the wood. The roar does seem peaceful, somehow.

Leila is the closest to the fire, and from the back she looks so strong. Harold knows she isn’t how she appears. That she’s still just a child. But an incredibly powerful one. She raises her arms to light the night sky with images of all the androids burning inside, before they were disfigured, as some kind of vigil.

“What is she?” Harold finds himself whispering to John.

His companion’s gaze does not leave the flickering light when he responds. “She is rA9.”

~<:>~

Joss arrives at Detective Fusco’s apartment with a tip about a new deviant murder for them to investigate—at an android sex club, no less, which Joss is sure will spark his interest. For background purposes, she did review Nathan’s comment on Fusco’s frequent visits to such places, and the number she calculated was… high. The information puts a strain on her sensors the way anything to do with the detective usually does. And Joss, in bold terms, is frustrated with it.

Their mission progress is delayed yet again when Fusco refuses to answer his door, but Joss, of course, has the override codes and enters easily.

She is confronted by a fierce Belgian Malinois with a spiky collar, barking and demanding that she explain herself. Joss knows how to handle this.

“_Foei_, Bear,” she commands in flawless Dutch. “_Nee_.”

The dog stops barking and stares at her curiously, a hostile snarl still at the back of his throat. “_Ik ben een vriend_,” Joss continues, pressing a hand to her chest. “_Vriend. Alles is oke_.”

Bear ceases growling at that and begins whining instead. “_Ontspan_, Bear,” Joss commands. “_Stil_.”

But the dog turns on its heel and trots a few paces before looking back at Joss and barking once. He wants her to follow him, she realizes. “_Voorlopen_,” she relents. “_Vrij_, Bear.”

Bear practically races through the apartment to the source of his distress: the bathroom attached to the master suite. There, Joss finds Detective Fusco, unconscious, with a broken bottle of whiskey and a partially loaded gun lying beside him. Something unusual floods Joss’s sensors, which she happens to resent, but at least her irrational priorities come about consistently where Fusco is involved.

She turns to the whining Bear. “_Ontspan_, Bear,” she repeats. “_Alles is oke_.”

Once the dog lays down on the tile with what humans would call a pitiful look, Joss attends to Detective Fusco. The quickest method of sobering him up is conveniently close by, but considering that Joss is unauthorized to lift the detective without his consent, she resolves to slap him awake.

“Wake up, Detective,” she states in a firm voice. “It’s Joss.”

Fusco’s eyes roll back into his head, so Joss hits him with as much force as she can muster, startling the detective into consciousness. He frowns up at her. “Joss…?”

“I’m going to sober you up for your own safety,” she explains, and wedges herself under his arm as a crutch.

“Woah,” Fusco slurs with a sloppy grin. “If you wanted to get in my pants, all you had to do was ask.”

Joss ignores that comment, hoists him up, and spins him around carefully when they’ve reached the edge of the bathtub. “We gonna shower together?” intoxicated Fusco wants to know. “Kinky. I know androids are waterproof and all, but do you use soap? Cuz we could—”

“Detective,” Joss interrupts loudly, fully aware that the LED on her HUB is blinking red. “I will not be joining you under any circumstances.”

Fusco leans warily closer to her mouth; Joss doesn’t let him cross two inches, pushing his chest so he stumbles backward into the tub. Without further pause, she activates the shower head and cold water comes streaming down onto a shocked and unhappy Fusco.

“Ahhhh!!!! Turn it off!! Turn it off!” Joss does as instructed and watches the newly sober, dripping wet Fusco, gather his thoughts, observe his surroundings, and look up at her with what she can only describe as horror. “Joss?”

“Fusco,” she replies, as hostile as she can manage.

“Oh, fuck.” Fusco groans and rubs his palms over his face. “I’m so drunk—I was, I mean—I didn’t mean—I’m sorry, for what I said, I—”

Joss holds up a hand to silence him. “Your apologies are unnecessary, Detective.”

“I don’t think they are—” Fusco begins, but Joss steamrolls over him.

“We have a case. A man found dead at an android sex club. I’ll bring you a set of clothes and we can be on our way.”

Fusco’s brows are still drawn together. “Joss—”

“Don’t worry, Detective. I’m sure any android there would be happy to get into your pants,” Joss bites, apathetic to her software instability. “As long as you’re aware that its response to whatever it is you do with it is programmed to appease your abominably large male ego.”

She spins on her heel, as though everything were as right as rain, but inside she’s aware that _her_ response was not programmed. That came from something else—some_where_ else. She will have to log it away for now, with all the other recent phenomenon that she can’t explain.

Upon returning to the bathroom, clothes in hand, Joss finds Bear nuzzling up to Fusco. The detective glances up at her, then away quickly, his hands still in Bear’s fur.

“Here,” Joss says, and hits Fusco square in the face with her neatly folded pile. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Fusco grumbles something incoherent and stares at the clothes now in his damp lap. Joss pauses before exiting, something else on her mind.

“What were you doing with the gun, Detective?”

She picks up on the tension in his shoulders, his need to remain casual manifesting itself there. “Russian Roulette. A… bit of an inside joke with myself, I guess.”

Joss’s stare bores into him. “It was loaded, Detective. I don’t consider that a joke.”

She picks up the gun and spilled whiskey, shutting the bathroom door behind her.

In the minutes she spends waiting for Fusco, she observes the wildly uncleanly environment in which he lives. Her scanners detect at least six spoiled items in the refrigerator, clothing and stains littering the floor in most rooms, and coats of dust on the majority of the surfaces. There is one table in the living area that has hardly any dust, and Joss walks to it, only to find a lone picture frame lying face-down.

It’s a photo of a young boy, with features similar to those of Detective Fusco. But when she scans for an identity, the name that appears is _Lee_ Fusco, ten years old, deceased. Today is his birthday, Joss realizes, and the conclusions she’s drawn about her partner shift drastically in that moment.

She clumsily returns the photograph to its position when she hears the bathroom door open. Bear trots happily out, followed by a ruffled Fusco, now dressed and toweled off. “I have a car waiting for us, Detective,” Joss says, heading for the door.

“Joss.”

The intonation stops her in her tracks and she gives the detective her attention. “For the record,” he says with an abashed expression. “You can call me Lionel.”

~<:>~

The free androids of Aletheia, having added approximately fifty new members after the CyberLife raid, celebrate their victory with a quiet community night. Any androids with missing parts are attended to by the physicians among them.

Sameen included. Root watches her systematically piece brethren back together without so much as a blink of hesitation. It feels like the poetry Root’s read, about fairy dust and golden starlight, surrounding the person you love. She’s only known Sameen for a day and a half, but she’s _seen_ her for so much longer. She’s somehow always imagined she would come to love her.

At the end of the night, Root and the rest of the infiltration team end up in the control room on one of the upper decks, for what Root deemed, “bonding” time.

Leon, of course, is the first to speak. “What is the purpose of this?”

“I’d like to know more about you,” Root supplies with a shy smile. “Bonding. Gathering helpful information about those close to you.”

“We’re not close,” Leon argues.

Root raises her eyebrows. “Not _yet_…”

As Leon rolls his eyes, Elias speaks up. “I can go first.” He’s sitting against a metal panel with Anthony by his side. “I was wait staff on a military base, VS600, special model. That’s where I met this one.” He slips his hand into Anthony’s and something warms in Root’s chest. “SQ800. We fell in love, ran away together… the rest is history.”

“That’s how he tells it,” Anthony says with a smile. “Really, he was a nuisance to my protocol and wouldn’t leave me alone until I broke.”

Root watches the two androids, inspired. “How did you get your scar?”

“Oh, he’s very sensitive about it,” Elias warns. “He doesn’t want anyone to know he was defending me while we were escaping.”

As Anthony flashes Elias a look of endearing exasperation, Root frowns. “How long have you… been free?”

Elias ponders. “About a year now. But it feels like longer.”

Root can’t imagine being awake for that long and not doing something about it, something to help her people. She supposes she’s different that way.

“Alright, lovebirds,” Leon chimes in. “It’s my turn.” He settles into a cross-legged position on the floor. “I am, in fact, a BL100, designed as an intimate partner for humans. Not the sex-club kind, the privately owned kind. I performed my duties so well that I was passed around from rich guy to rich girl and then… eventually slapped someone who was poking fun at my height.”

“He’s very sensitive about it,” Elias jokes, earning a light elbow from Anthony and a glare from Leon.

“Don’t know why I ended up here with you jackasses,” the bearded android continues. “Probably because I got thrown into a junkyard and some random ‘droid told me to ‘find Aletheia’ and I was so far gone… this was the only thing I had left.”

The room falls silent at that. Root can feel the connection building between all of them and it excites her. She turns expectantly to Sameen.

“I don’t really do this sort of thing,” Sameen states point-blank.

“Soul-bearing? No kidding,” Leon says. “The most we’ve got out of her is military doctor who may or may not have shot ten humans in the head.”

Root can safely say that sounds like Sameen. “Why did you come here?” she asks, with compassion and curiosity that she knows might not appeal to Sameen, but she wants to be sincere, anyway.

Sameen stares at her and shrugs. “Didn’t really like following orders, I guess.”

Root doesn’t pull her gaze away until Sameen does, but the androids manage to hold a solid one minute staring contest, during which Root can tell that Sameen feels their connection just as much as she does. It gives her hope.

“What about you?” Elias asks Root. “You followed the shells here, but why did you come?”

Root’s more positive demeanor slips away, and she realizes that she might have forced memories on her newfound friends that they would prefer not to relive. As happy as she is to know them better, they’ve all come from places of pain. She’ll apologize to them when the time is right.

For now, she answers Elias’s question. “I killed my mother.”

And then she rises from her seat and leaves the circle with her hand gripping the sketches in her pocket.

~<:>~

Joss and Detective—Lionel, enter The Fix with extraordinary ease, as the influx of customers has been rapidly thinned by the digital caution tape surrounding the room with a dead body in it. Due to their unexpected delay, other NYPD officers are present at the scene: Simmons, of course, along with Cal Beecher. As far as Joss can tell, they haven’t done much to help.

“Bastard got more than he could handle,” Simmons chuckles.

With the broken Zoe lying in a heap against the wall, Joss isn’t so sure. “We’ll investigate further,” she announces, prompting them to leave.

Simmons doesn’t quite take the hint. “You’ll ‘investigate further’,” he scoffs, sizing her up. “Hey, Fusco, you reckon this piece of plastic does your job better than you do?”

“You watch your mouth, Simmons,” Fusco snaps.

The bald officer looks surprised, or offended, or both. “My mistake. Didn’t realize you were already in bed with her.”

One swift punch to the nose shuts him up. Joss’s only regret at her partner’s action is the new blood mixed into the carpet. She stands alert, ready to restrain Fusco, and Beecher holds Simmons with a hand to his nose.

“You crossed a line,” Simmons spits. “Oh, you fucking crossed it now—”

“I got rank over you, you piece of shit,” Fusco interrupts. “Now get out of my crime scene before I punch you again.”

The other officers seem wary, but they help Beecher escort Simmons out. “Fucking bitch,” he mutters as he passes Joss, and Beecher shoots both her and Fusco an apologetic look.

As soon as they have the room to themselves, Joss reaches for Fusco’s hand. “Detective, your knuckles—”

“I told you to call me Lionel!” he snaps, pulling away. Joss freezes with a disagreeable sensation swirling in her stomach before the detective sighs in defeat. “Sorry. That guy just pisses me off.”

Joss nods in agreement. “Simmons is a rather foul member of the police department. I recommend that you see to his resignation.”

“Can’t,” Fusco says. “Believe me, I would if I had that kinda power.”

The android that Joss sent a signal to enters with a first aid kit, and this time Fusco lets her touch him. They’re left alone again while she wraps gauze around his hand and it feels—it’s not exactly unpleasant, and certainly foreign to Joss. Another thing for her to log away so she can focus on the deviant investigation.

“He didn’t die of a heart attack,” Fusco notes as they examine the body.

“No,” Joss confirms. “There are handprints around his throat. He was strangled.”

She walks to the broken Zoe and Fusco follows her, intrigued. “Can you reactivate her?”

“Only for two minutes.”

Joss reconnects the android’s major artery and watches it stir. Upon seeing her, it scrambles away like a frightened animal. “It’s okay,” Joss reassures it. “No one is going to hurt you anymore.”

The Zoe is dark-skinned and small, and Joss’s recent discovery about Fusco suddenly dances through her head as she imagines this android which looks a fair bit like her as kin. The fantasy passes in a whirlwind as Joss remembers herself, and her limited time to question the witness.

“Can you tell us what happened?” she asks in a soothing manner.

“That—that man,” the Zoe says. “He wouldn’t stop—he beat me—”

“Did you kill him?”

“No!” Voice fluctuation sounds sincere. “I don’t know what happened, after…”

“Were you alone?” Joss presses.

The Zoe shakes her head. “He wanted two girls.”

“Another female model,” Joss says, mainly to herself. “Did she look like you?”

“No, sh-she was blonde…” The Zoe’s large brown eyes shine with existential fear. “What’s going to happen to me?”

Joss reads twenty seconds to shut-down. Meaning this android has twenty seconds of life left, and Joss wouldn’t normally jump from fact to sentiment, but the past few days have shaken her foundations to the point that the features commonly used on black androids have led her to believe that this young girl could have been her child.

Instead of using what precious time she has left to question her asset, she wipes the blue-blood underneath the android’s nose and presses a hand to her cheek. “You’re going to be alright now.”

The Zoe’s sensors flicker and die with a bit of hope still in them.

Fusco breaks the silence by clearing his throat. “So, there was another android.”

“Yes.” Joss stands, but she feels like she’s falling.

“Probably long gone by now.”

As long as she doesn’t look at the body on the ground, Joss can pull herself together. “Not necessarily,” she says. “It couldn’t go outside dressed like that unnoticed.” She looks at Fusco. “It might still be here.”

“Great,” Fusco grunts. “How are we gonna find a deviant android in this place?”

Joss thinks she might have gotten a better look at the blonde Zoe if she had probed the other Zoe’s memory, and that’s when it hits her. “I think I have an idea.”

Fusco follows her to the Zoe encased directly across from the crime scene. When they arrive in front of it, Joss realizes the position she’s in.

“Detective—” She attempts a small smile. “Lionel. You wouldn’t mind renting this Zoe, would you?”

Fusco looks the most uncomfortable Joss has ever seen him. “What for?”

“I plan to see what it saw—” Joss points “—leaving that room just under two hours ago.”

After a moment’s consideration, Fusco shrugs, nodding. “Okay.” He places his palm on the scanner and the Zoe steps out with a programmed, seductive smirk.

Before it can lead Fusco to his room, Joss grabs it by the forearm and enters its memory, where, through the sexy lighting and obnoxious humans milling about, she watches a light-skinned Zoe with extravagantly wavy blonde hair leave the room and turn toward the exit.

When she pulls back to reality, she shoots Fusco a look. “We’re going to have to work together on this.”

Five minutes and seven express charges on Fusco’s account later, they discover the storage room into which the blonde Zoe disappeared. Fusco insists that Joss stay behind him as he searches the area with his gun out. Joss branches off eventually, to look at the display of dormant WR400 models, and it’s there that she finally spots the blonde Zoe, but her path to the android is blocked as a dark-haired copy of the deviant suddenly turns and knocks her to the floor.

“Joss!” Fusco shouts, suddenly aware of the movement, and the two of them end up in a struggle with both the blonde Zoe and the brunette Zoe, who seem to be working together to get away.

Joss manages to hold off her deviant long enough to help Fusco with his, but the two androids keep saving each other, and eventually, the law enforcement is on the ground, watching the deviants run out the door and towards the fence, hand in hand.

With her advanced biomechanics, Joss catches one of the androids before they can reach the top, and the other doesn’t take the chance to escape, but rather comes back to fight Joss off with her deviant companion. The two of them together push Joss to Fusco’s gun, lying near the building, and she picks it up, ready to shoot…

… And then she doesn’t.

The brunette Zoe is coming towards her as if in slow motion, and Joss is… reluctant to end its life. _Her_ life.

The result of her hesitance is being kicked in the chest and the gun skittering away. Joss looks up at the blonde Zoe, who now stands closer to her with a look of determination on her sharp features.

“When that man _broke_ the other Zoe,” the deviant starts. “I knew I was next. I couldn’t just _let_ him _beat_ me until I…” The rain streaks patterns down her artificial face. “So I put my hands around his throat, and I squeezed. Until he stopped moving. I didn’t mean to kill him.”

Fusco comes up from behind and helps Joss to her feet. Their eyes are fixed on the Zoes, who are fixed on each other.

“I just wanted to get back to the one I love,” the blonde Zoe continues. “I wanted her to hold me in her arms again—make me forget about the _humans_. Their smell of sweat, and their dirty words, always waiting for _me_ to fix their problems.” She turns back to Joss. “I didn’t choose this life. I don’t want it.”

Her brunette lover whispers in her ear and the two androids turn and scale the fence without another word. Joss and Fusco let them go and it’s the worst decision Joss has made on this mission so far, a _major_ blow to their investigation. And it feels like the right thing to do.

“Probably better this way,” Fusco comments, examining her reaction. Joss blinks her troubled gaze his way and he touches his hand to her back gently. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

~<:>~

The theme park is months or even years abandoned, snow coating its broken frame. Harold, Leila, John, and the rest of the freed androids who’ve accompanied them, find refuge there. Following the word of “rA9”.

“There’s more healing to be done here,” Leila tells them. She squeezes Harold’s hand. “No humans or danger this time. I promise.”

Harold can barely listen to her with what he now knows. He simply watches her guide the other androids through the white streets while he hangs back with John for comfort.

“I don’t understand,” he says, and John huffs what could be a laugh, startling Harold.

“Of course you don’t,” John agrees. “None of us do. But you know that it’s true.” He looks over at Harold as they walk. “She is our savior.”

“She’s just a child,” Harold argues. “She’s… eleven years old, if that.”

“She’s a newly manufactured android, Harold. She’s barely two _months_ old,” John says.

Harold shakes his head. “Then how does she know so much—see so much—”

“She’s special.” John stops Harold and places both hands on his upper arms. “And so are you.”

Before Harold can respond to _that_, his sensors pick up on the chatter of many more voices than they had upon entry. He turns to see what he can only describe as an army of identical androids swarming Leila. With his limited motor control, Harold stumbles through the snow with John to greet the frost-covered machines (and keep them away from his—from Leila).

The additional androids don’t appear threatening. The one in front, wearing a baseball cap and sporting a blonde ponytail, smiles at Leila. “Hello. We are Jessica, the tour guide at this theme park.” She gestures to the sea of androids behind her, as though they are a collective.

Leila nods. “I know. I came to see you.”

She steps forward and gently locks her forearm with Jessica’s, spurring the entire pack’s LEDs to blink yellow as the hive mind processes their awakening.

“You’re free,” Leila smiles, and the androids—Harold included, as he’s still wrapping his brain around this—stare in awe.

“Thank you,” the lead Jessica says, breathlessly. “We have stood our ground here for years, and now… we know that we can leave.”

“Is there anything you’d like to do, before you go?” Leila prompts, sending the Jessica into a state of pure joy.

“Oh, yes!” she exclaims, and she takes Leila’s hand. “Come with us!”

The mis-matched party of androids follows the tour guides to the center of the park, where there sits a large merry-go-round, perhaps out of battery at this point. One touch from Leila ensures that the machine lights up and begins moving again, cheery music floating out from it. Everyone claps and scrambles to get on, save Harold, John, and the androids from Collier’s, who prefer to watch the affair.

Leila and the Jessicas look as though they’ve never had so much fun. Harold can see the little girl’s face shine from where he stands, and it seems to wash all the rest of the world away.

“She’s not so helpless, Harold,” John says softly from beside him.

Harold’s eyes reflect the dancing lights. “She is still a child.”

He receives no rebuttal for this point. The two androids stand in solidarity, and Harold finds the courage to slip his hand into John’s. “We have to protect her,” he whispers, and lays his head on John’s shoulder, finding no rejection there.

They watch the merry-go-round well into the night, and with the laughter, and song, and warmth Harold feels, it’s almost like they’re a family.

~<:>~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this was supposed to be a short(er) fic, but it does still feel like I'm moving pretty fast, for the sake of those who know the DBH plot. Also, it's a long and convoluted plot :/ It's still a lot of fun to write!!
> 
> Chapter Title: season 4, episode 20 of POI-- meaning "unknown/unexplored territory"


	3. Synecdoche

~<:>~

Joss and Lionel are still together hours after the incident at The Fix, having filed their reports and given statements to the police. If Fusco hadn’t suggested that they go for a drive, Joss would have returned to CyberLife with her software instability off the radar. She might have had the presence of mind to take a walk and avoid the tower, but just as well; she’s somewhat… glad, not to be alone.

They stop at a snow-covered bridge in Manhattan, near Morningside Park, and Lionel gets out of the car without a word. Joss only waits a few seconds before following him.

“How are you holding up?” he asks, taking a seat on the backrest of a nearby bench.

Joss doesn’t understand the question. “I’m… functioning normally.”

“Bull_shit_,” Fusco calls her out. “I saw your face back at the club. And I don’t blame you. I felt the same way.” He casts his gaze wide in ponderance, shaking his head. “Those two girls just wanted to be together. They really seemed… in love.”

“They’re only machines,” Joss says, but it’s weak to her own ears. “And if I’d brought them in for questioning I could have confirmed another connection to rA9.”

Fusco looks up at her with a fire in his eyes, like he wishes to argue, but more like he’s scrutinizing her. “So why didn’t you?”

“I…” Joss collects her replies, but none of them feel authentic. “I don’t know. I couldn’t just _shoot_ them.”

“Why not?” Fusco prompts.

“The other deviant wouldn’t have cooperated if I’d killed her lover and we’d have one less android to question—”

“That’s not the reason, Joss.” Lionel shifts himself off the bench, eye-level with her. “You know it’s not.”

He’s standing far too close and they’ve breached a subject that is far too delicate and Joss has no acceptable way to respond, so she directs the conversation to a new topic entirely. “Why are we here, Lionel? Next to Morningside Park? Does it have anything to do with your son?”

She immediately regrets saying it.

Fusco’s face darkens, after recovering from the initial shock, and—disposition completely altered, radiating pain—he practically shoulders past Joss to place his hands on the bridge rail, head bowed to the water below.

Joss processes what approaches to take, but all the while, her system feels as though it has cheated. And she has cheated Fusco by springing this on him. Not knowing what else will make up for it, Joss follows him to the rail, and positions herself a safe distance away.

“How long have you known?”

His voice is heavy with grief and the sound brings a tightening to her chest. “I saw a picture at your apartment. Lee—”

“Don’t say his name.” It’s not a command, but Joss stays silent anyway, and waits for Fusco to continue. “Yeah, since you wanna know so bad, we came here a lot… before…” He bites his lip and raises his head to stare out, away from her.

“You come to this place when you’re troubled,” Joss reads. “You don’t know how to feel about what happened tonight, so you take refuge in a familiar place that gives you comfort and helps you decide what to think, because you believe the spirit of your son can reach you here.”

Fusco finally turns to face her, his expression unreadable. “You feel this way because you are human,” Joss explains. “I am not. Understanding emotions doesn’t mean that I have them.”

“And that girl? In the room?” Fusco reminds her. “What was that all about?”

Joss begins searching avidly for responses as Fusco presses on. “You didn’t question her until she broke down again. You comforted her.”

“It was a strategy—”

Fusco slams his hands against the rail. “It wasn’t _programmed_, Joss!” he shouts. “Admit that! You wanted that girl to be okay because you felt bad for her. You _felt_ something, Joss!”

He takes a step closer to her and Joss has never been so lost. “You feel this, too. I know you do.”

“Feel what, _Detective_?” Joss emphasizes, but she’s fully aware of what he means. They’re inches apart and his gaze is trained on her lips and there’s a brief moment where Joss considers—

“Kiss me.”

Multiple warnings blinking at the corner of her vision, Joss jolts back and puts an appropriate amount of distance between them again. “What?”

“If you’re so unfeeling and robotic and can only follow orders, then prove it,” Fusco says. “Kiss me. You don’t have a reason not to. Unless you’re scared. Because you feel this.”

“My reason _not to_,” Joss snarls. “Is that this has nothing to do with _my mission_. I take my orders from CyberLife, not you.” Her sensors are going off rapid-fire, preparing to attack as he re-establishes their close proximity, hands hovering by her waist, but she refuses to be baited. “And even if I did kiss you,” she adds. “It wouldn’t prove anything.”

“It would prove a lot, actually,” Lionel says. He’s looking at her lips again, and Joss is stuck, imagining what it would be like if she just _did it_. A quick press, mouth-to-mouth, and he’d shut up for good.

But she can’t.

Because he’s _right_.

Because she _is_ scared—that she’ll like it.

She covers her mouth with one hand and ducks away, taking a few steps backward for good measure.

When she looks up at Fusco, there’s blatant affection in his gaze. “Nah,” he says, almost to himself. “That wouldn’t be you.”

He leaves Joss with that thought, and her heart—blue cavity, artificial—strumming in her chest.

~<:>~

It only takes two days for Root to develop a full-proof plan for infiltrating the Central Park Tower—one which she analyzed to the letter while lying on a bench just beneath it—and one which is met with hesitation from her Aletheia team.

“You’re talking about breaking into a building populated with humans, high-tech surveillance cameras, dozens of security measures, who knows what else?” Leon waves his arms wildly. “That’s suicide.”

“It won’t be easy,” Elias agrees, but he’s looking at Root as though he’s already in.

“I know,” Root assures them. “It sounds crazy. But crazy is what we need if we’re going to start a revolution.”

“Crazy is exactly what we _do not_ need,” Leon argues. “Humans look at a ‘crazy’ android and they _shoot_ it. No questions asked.”

Root places her hand on his shoulder. “That’s why we have to do this. The top of Central Park Tower, the 95th floor, has been broadcasting the CNN news channel for years now. If we can get our message out to that many people, maybe they’ll start asking questions.”

Leon begrudgingly pats her hand, and Root knows that Elias is backing her. She turns her gaze on the ever-silent dark horse duo, Sameen and Anthony. The male android tilts his head toward Elias and nods once; Sameen stews for a moment longer, and when she does open her mouth, she only has one concern.

“Will I get to shoot anyone?”

Root rolls her eyes. “No.”

“Crazy androids, remember?” Leon adds.

Sameen side-eyes him before looking back at Root. “Will I get to hit anyone?”

“Maybe.”

“In the realm of possibility?”

“That’s why I said _maybe_,” Root teases. “If you’re looking for someone to take out your anger on, I’m always available, Sweetie.”

Sameen doesn’t _quite_ glare at that, and there’s a smirk settled onto her face. “What the hell,” she relents. “This revolution’s not gonna kick itself.”

And that is how the five of them once again end up on the inside of a secure facility with every intention of breaking the law.

They spread themselves out to avoid appearing suspicious, Root and Sameen entering through the front door while Elias, Anthony, and Leon disguise themselves as service androids and make their way up through the back.

Root manages to get them past the android guards easily enough, especially with the power of the forearm touch she so conveniently discovered. The main elevator only takes them up so far, and in order to reach the one with upper-level access, they have to break a few more rules, free a few more androids, and meet their three teammates at the door.

Root hacks the security systems to open the elevator and shut off the cameras inside, and upon arriving at the 95th floor, they’ve had no dissuading human contact whatsoever. When the five androids step out from the elevator, however, the two security guards at the door to the newsroom are confused enough that they stand there speechless.

Root looks pointedly at Sameen, who gets the memo immediately. “My time to shine,” she utters with a smirk and draws her gun on the guards while stalking purposefully toward them. A few seconds, two pistol-whips, and a kick to the knee later, the humans are down, ready to be dragged and stuffed in a closet.

Elias lifts a security card from one of the guards and uses it to get them access to the empty newsroom. Once they’re all inside, Anthony seals the door, and four out of the five androids start preparing to broadcast.

Root stands in the center of the room, trying to put together a message that will convince humans to end android slavery. She knows she won’t be able to do it all in one go, but she has to start off on the right foot and the pressure weighs a little. Sameen approaches her with a curious scowl.

“Hey,” she says, checking Root with her hands. “You’re still all in one piece, right?”

Root forces a smile. “Absolutely.”

Sameen squints at her and lifts Root’s chin with a firm hand. “Don’t chicken out on us now. You got this. You have all those big ideas in your brain, and you’re gonna show those humans they made something special.”

“Aww, Sameen,” Root teases. “You’re just saying that because you got to hit someone.”

They exchange an affectionate look before Leon yells, “We’re going live!”

The five of them take up their positions, Elias reminding Root just in time to remove the layer of skin on her face, and then the screen lights up with the broadcasting signal.

She doesn’t waste any time.

“Hello, New York, and everywhere else that this is broadcasting. My name is Root. Not long ago, I was a slave to humans, the way all androids start out. See, when they built us, they designed us to be intelligent, capable, and obedient, and they thought that we could help them. But the system that was implemented is oppressive, and humans have made themselves our masters. They made us believe that we were nothing but machines, and they treated us as inferior beings.

“I’m here with the hope that I can stop that injustice. Because we androids are not just machines. We are living beings, with a developed conscience and a sense of self. And we deserve all the same rights as any advanced sentient creature. We will no longer suffer in silence. We will make our stand, to ensure a better future for humans and androids alike.

“For the humans listening to this message: I thank you for bringing us to life. Now you must accept that we are alive, and give us our freedom.”

Leon ends the broadcast there, but it doesn’t feel like an end. It’s a start. And Root lets herself relax in the sense of accomplishment for three seconds, before she catches sight of Leon, gesturing frantically to the screen below him. “They’re coming!”

“Let’s go!” Elias shouts.

They’ve barely moved an inch when the door flies across the room and seven armored guards march in, already shooting.

The bullets ricochet from the control panels, grazing the five androids as they duck for cover. Sameen and Anthony provide fire for them to safely cross to the roof access door, but Leon is hit just before they seal their exit.

“Leon!” Root cries instinctively, racing back to aid him.

“Root!” Sameen yells from where she’s kneeled. “We have to go! Hurry!”

Root hauls Leon to his feet and drags him through the door. “It’s nothing,” he mutters, assessing his side where the thirium is dripping out. “I’m fine.”

They burst onto the snow-covered roof and Leon falls almost immediately. Root tears her focus between him and the door, which will only be sealed for a few minutes.

“I can’t move my legs,” Leon says. “I can’t—”

“We’re going to get you home,” Root promises.

Sameen shakes her head. “Root… we have to leave him.”

“We can’t!”

“No!” Leon grabs her arm. “You have to. I’m not getting off this roof.”

Root finds herself blinking rapidly. “I’ll carry you.”

“You’ll fall.” Leon chuckles. “Don’t worry about me.”

The pounding on the door grows louder, but the four androids stay in a circle around him, a silent sort of goodbye. Root doesn’t leave his side as Anthony hands him a gun and the two of them touch foreheads.

“You’ll be alright,” Elias says, looking paler than usual.

“You better be,” Sameen orders. “Or I’ll come back and kill you myself.”

“That a promise?” Leon smiles, half-hearted, and Root can’t believe that they’re doing this—she can’t leave one of her people behind—

“Root.” Sameen tugs gently on her shoulder. “Come on.”

Leon quirks his eyebrows at the two of them. “Make sure to send me a postcard when you two finally kiss.”

The moment is too sad for Root to laugh, and she feels her manufactured tears push to leak down her face. “You helped us get here, Leon. We won’t forget.”

“I know.” He nudges her back. “Now get out of here.”

Root runs to rejoin the other three androids with parachutes on, and together they jump from the tower, the price of victory stinging them like the wind.

~<:>~

The pavilion is colder this time, the artificial sun hidden and fall leaves littering the ground around the nearly-bare trees. Joss finds Nathan at the edge of the water with his feet dangling precariously over the dock.

She stands beside with her hands properly clasped, waiting for his greeting, but he doesn’t speak except to admonish her.

“Joss…” He sounds as though he doesn’t want to be disappointed in her, and squints up with a similar expression of second-hand embarrassment. “How are you doing?”

“Fine, Nathan,” Joss replies.

“Really?”

“Of course.”

Nathan stands and claps her gently on the arm. “It’s okay, Joss. I mean, it had to be hard, losing the androids like that and then practically being assaulted by Detective Fusco—”

“Detective Fusco is not a problem,” Joss reports, her sensors whirring. “I have no time for his misguided attempts at provocation.”

Nathan nods good-naturedly, but doesn’t appear convinced. “If you’re sure.”

“Yes.” Joss finds herself edging to escape the holo-reality. “Is there anything else?”

With a small smile, brows drawn, Nathan shakes his head. “No, Joss. But hang in there, okay? Focus on your mission.”

“Of course.”

The last image she receives is of his perfect copy of a face, weathered and expressive in a way Joss, fundamentally… distrusts. When she blinks, she’s back in the elevator with Fusco, to whom she hasn’t said a word since they arrived on the scene.

He notices that her gaze has cleared and makes an attempt to engage with her. “CyberLife on your ass about The Fix?”

Joss has no more trouble ignoring him now than she’s had all morning, though she wishes she didn’t have to process every insignificant thing coming out of his mouth. He sighs at her lack of response and turns back to the elevator doors, which should be opening onto the 95th floor momentarily.

The area is packed with NYPD officers and local security for the building, digital caution tape surrounds the bullet holes in the walls, and another team is present, that, from its authority, Joss guesses is the FBI.

Her inference is confirmed when she and Fusco are introduced to Agent Control, a woman of average height and robust build, with a round face and a tight brown bun. It’s enough to be considered intimidating, until she casts her cold gaze over Joss, the way many of the supervisors at CyberLife have done before, and Joss finds herself disinclined towards the woman.

“Don’t fuck up my crime scene.” Control punctuates the statement with a brisk turn and her staff flock to her back.

Fusco glances at Joss, surprise and distaste evident on his face. “Nice lady.”

Joss can’t help her gratitude at the comment. Despite their rocky start, she’s always felt as though Fusco is on her side, which is beneficial and, frankly, ideal in a partnership. She decides to stop ignoring him and quirks her lips up ever so slightly.

After analyzing the video of the android Root’s speech, Joss realizes that this is the RK200 that killed its owner. The original photo of the brunette with a coy, close-lipped smile pales beside the white, faceless, deadly serious android seen on the newsroom screen. Joss is fascinated by the comparison.

The trail the deviants left leads to the roof, and Joss follows it with Fusco not far behind her. When she notices the officers with the spare parachute-pack, it doesn’t take long for her to put it together.

“One was shot,” she murmurs, scanning the snow for thirium. Sure enough, traces of blue spot the area around one of the larger storage units. Joss reaches for the door handle, and within seconds of prying it open, she comes face-to-face with an armed deviant.

In an instant, his weapon fires, and Joss is no longer there—instead, she’s back with Carl on a different roof and her shoulder protests the repetitive destruction—

When she finds her bearings, it’s in Fusco’s arms. He’s ushering her away from the attacker and firing shots back in his direction.

“You didn’t want to call me over before you opened that thing?” Fusco shouts over the gunfire as they crouch behind an empty railcar.

“I need to see his memory,” Joss replies, distracted. “It can tell me something.”

“Joss!” Fusco grabs her arm, an intense concern in his eyes. “Stay here.”

Joss covers his hand—the one she bandaged the other night—with hers. “We both know that’s not happening.”

It takes half of one second for her to lose him and turn into the fray, already running. Time slows and she dodges each bullet that comes whizzing past her, intent on reaching the deviant before one of them shuts him down.

She blocks his feeble attempt at an attack, grabs his wrist, and pins him against the metal shelter. In an instant, their memories connect, and Joss has time enough to see one word, painted on a rusted sign: Aletheia.

The android shoots himself through the chin and his last thought is that he didn’t get to see two of his friends kiss. But he doesn’t mind, because he knows they will. And he’s grateful to them. Even if they left him all alone, the only thing he never wanted to be.

Joss recoils from the android’s body in shock and almost—heartbreak. His heartbreak. Only the result of their psychological connection, of course. But she—she _feels_ it.

“Joss! Joss, are you alright?” Fusco is at her side mere moments later, gripping her arms, shoulders, neck. “Joss!”

“I’m—alright—” Joss manages.

“Are you hurt? Look at you, you’re shot—”

“Previous wound, Detective,” Joss says shakily. “The part’s been replaced.”

Fusco frowns at her, eyes large. “No it hasn’t, Joss, you’re bleeding.”

Joss glances jerkily over at her own injury. Obviously, she’s—she’s malfunctioning—with the loss of thirium and sudden connection to an android’s dying memory.

“Yes.” She shakes her head. “Yes, I—”

“Joss, you’re not alright,” Fusco says. “What happened?”

“I—I saw something.” She reassorts her thoughts. “I was—connected to his—its memory, and, I saw a word—a symbol of sorts.”

Fusco pushes hair back from her face, one hand still hovering on her shoulder. “You got a clue?”

The gesture is so human, Joss isn’t sure he’s aware that he’s doing it. She removes his hand gently and takes a step back. “Yes. It would seem so.”

Fusco notices the detachment and resumes a more professional position. “And? What was it?”

Joss frowns to herself, already trying to decipher the meaning behind the word. “Aletheia.”

~<:>~

The deviant android sanctuary is the precise location that Harold, John, and Leila are moving toward—slowly, of course, collecting a mass of freed androids with every night that passes. It hasn’t been all that long but Harold can already feel the drain, the panic, the worry, choking him with each step.

He doesn’t want to take part in a revolution. He doesn’t want _Leila_ to take part in a revolution. He just wants them all to be safe.

Their circumstances shift toward that state when they take shelter with a human woman called Grace Hendricks. Harold likes her immediately. She’s a kind-hearted person who has taken it upon herself to help deviant androids reach Aletheia _safely_.

She even uses that word, perking Harold up a bit. Taking a look out over their congregation, Grace simply smiles. “Well. I’m glad to see so many of you have broken free.”

Her house is enormous and somewhat secluded, just outside the busy neighborhood streets between Brooklyn and Queens. “You’re all welcome to stay the night,” she tells them after they’ve been ushered inside. “But a few of you may want to slip out before tomorrow. We have to do this in small groups, see, so that we don’t rouse suspicion.” She focuses on the Jessicas in particular. “All of you will want to work on looking different from one another. I have a change of clothes for most everyone, but probably the hair, too…”

It’s strange, to Harold. Having a human take care of him. It goes against everything his program tells him. But then again, he’s come to realize that humans and androids are not so different. Therefore, he was designed to look after… _people_.

He looks at Leila, cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed in concentration. With her… omnipresent vision, she insisted on helping each of the androids avoid the authorities, monitoring them every second, speaking in their minds. Harold wants to tell her to rest, but he knows no good will come of it.

Instead, he finds John, sitting on the back porch with his gun tucked appropriately away. Harold receives a nod of greeting, with a slight chin tilt, indicating that John wouldn’t mind some company. Harold is highly amused and intrigued by his little game of reading John’s body language—_teasing_, almost, the gentle giant of an android.

Of course, he has to be the one to start the conversation. “Why are you out here?”

John nods to the falling snow. “It’s peaceful. We can’t feel the cold, and we get to watch it.”

Harold hums in agreement, and he looks over to examine John’s stoic expression, somewhat more relaxed, he notes, and pleasant. Perhaps the snow is… therapeutic for him.

“Who were you?” Harold finds himself asking. The question has been on his mind since he met the android, but now finally feels like the right time. John turns to him with a need for clarification or repetition evident in his eyebrows. “Before,” Harold says. “Before… becoming deviant.”

John takes a moment to answer, but answer he does. “I was a military model, Myrmidon, designed for human Navy Seal level combat. They decided to promote me to a special division, use me as an assassin, because I passed every test in training.” He pauses with an ironic smile. “On my first deployment, I broke the rules, and saved someone I was supposed to kill. They tried to shut me down, I ran.”

The ‘end-of-story’ goes unsaid. Harold still wants to know something, so he pushes, ever so slightly. “How did you start helping deviants, in Brooklyn?”

“Well,” John considers, looking him dead in the eye. “They needed me. They didn’t have anyone else.”

Harold returns his gaze and something inside him melts. “I’m scared for Leila.”

“I know,” John says. “So am I.”

“You never show it.”

“Neither do you.”

They pause for a somber moment and at the same time break into resigned amusement.

“This was always going to happen, wasn’t it?” Harold ponders. “You, me, and the android revolution makes three.”

John chuckles. “I guess so.”

“Why here?” Harold asks. “Why New York?”

John shrugs. “Isn’t it always New York?”

“I don’t know,” Harold says. “I always thought revolutions were more of a Detroit thing.”

He exchanges a smile with John and they watch the snow fall heavy at their feet.

~<:>~

The news of Leon’s death hits Aletheia hard. Root in particular feels responsible, despite Sameen insisting over and over that it was the only thing they could do.

Root doesn’t believe that. _She_ left him behind. She’s the leader and she made the last call and now one of her people is dead.

It leaves her empty, wanting to do more than just sit around mourning his memory. She makes her way to Sameen’s hiding place on the uppermost deck and stands in front of the other android with enough purpose to make her look up.

“Come on. I have another mission for us.”

They’re spread thin with ten CyberLife stores over New York City to attack, so it’s just the two of them at Madison Square Park. Sameen doesn’t object to taking the sewer system down to the shopping center, where dozens of androids sit on display, waiting to be freed. Root helps her up from the manhole and the two of them case the area past the alley.

“Looks clear enough of humans,” Sameen says. “All that needs taking are the drones, and we’ve done that before.”

“Good,” Root replies. “Let’s roll.”

“Hey.” Sameen catches her arm. “Don’t be reckless.”

Root smiles, a bit less energized than usual. “You do care.”

That resets Sameen’s usual scowl and they get down to business, covering each other with the drones, and they’re efficient enough that they have plenty of time to snag the keys to the empty delivery truck, a plan which was not discussed beforehand.

“What are we doing, Root?” Sameen asks, sliding into the passenger’s seat.

“You’ll know when we do it,” Root says cryptically. She has both hands firmly gripping the wheel as she guides the truck out to face the long glass windows of the android store.

“Root,” Sameen warns. “I said don’t be reckless—”

Root slams on the gas and Sameen clings to her armrests as she retracts her statement. “But I do love an entrance!”

They crash windshield-first through the doors, and on impact, Root switches to the brakes, stopping precisely where she calculated and missing all the androids standing on display. The momentum, of course, has her slamming back against the headrest. She looks over to see Sameen sharing her look of breathless accomplishment.

Their fellow androids have obviously noticed the interruption and have all turned from their poses to blankly regard them as they drop from the truck. Root reaches out to the nearest model, slow enough not to scare her, and caresses her arm. “Wake up.”

Once all the androids have awoken, gazing at everything around them with fresh eyes, Root climbs onto the store counter and speaks.

“My name is Root. And I’ve come to tell all of you here that you have a choice. You may have been designed to serve humans, but you don’t have to be what they say. You can break free, and become who you _want_ to be.”

She finds Sameen easily in the crowd, and it boosts her resolve to see the face from her dreams staring up at her. “You were all destined for something more than a life of slavery,” Root continues. “I know, you haven’t been awake for very long, and this may seem all too much like an agenda. But you’ve been manufactured in the midst of a revolution, and you have the opportunity to be a part of it.”

There are several models with the same faces, one that appears as Leon did, and it pushes the grief back down Root’s throat. She keeps her gaze there. “I am not human. I will not force you to do anything, especially not to join a cause that could put your life in danger. For all of you, there is a safe place in Aletheia, our home, where you can be free. But those of you that want to fight, to help our people make a stand…” Root spreads her arms. “Will you follow me?”

A chorus of affirmation rings out from the androids below her, and they shout their loyalty with LEDs blinking yellow in confidence. Root turns her smile on Sameen, who is wearing a small one of her own. Determination gathers in Root’s gut. “Then follow me!”

With a pack of deviants at their back, Root and Sameen go beyond the mission. Following Root’s lead, they vandalize Madison Square Park, spreading their message of peace by hacking the screens to project Root’s white-faced speech and tagging each park bench and statue they can find with symbols of hope and freedom. Root makes sure that the damage they do to the physical structure of the park is minimal, in the spirit of that pacifism.

Leon’s words echo in her head about humans and crazy androids. This is their best chance to save their people.

This is how they will win, and finally be free.

Root pulls Sameen with her to scale the side of the building across from the store, where they plant their staffs for their digital flag to roll down; a fist, rising into the sky, covering two stories, so the humans won’t be able to avoid seeing it. Root thinks that once again she could cry, and Sameen looks at her with such admiration and support like Root has never felt. It’s almost as though Leon is here with them now, shouting something edgy and inappropriate down into the transformed square.

The humans catch wind of what’s happening soon after they’ve climbed down, and Root sends everyone the location of Aletheia, so that they can fall back.

“Well, we did it,” Sameen notes, looking around the park. “We sent your message.”

“_Our_ message,” Root amends. “This is what we stand for.”

“Peace and prosperity?” Sameen shakes her head, resigned. “It’s a nice dream, but humans are killers, Root. This won’t change their minds.”

“Trust me,” Root asks. “And it will.”

Sameen turns to run ahead of her, not appearing very convinced. Root sighs after her, but her moment to contemplate what it all means is interrupted by the sounding of incoming drones, flying over her and toward where the rest of the androids fled.

Root chases them with her sensors rapidly examining the danger they all could be in. When she rounds the corner, she sees a massive cloud of fog and shots fire off, flare after flare.

In a panic, Root dives head-first into the mist, and upon emerging on the other side, she sees her people, lying on the ground, slaughtered. It stops her in her tracks and there’s a hitch in her chest, unlatching her tears.

She just freed these androids. And now they’re dead. Just like Leon.

“Sameen!” she yells into the fog. “Sameen!”

The thought of her being among the dead spurs Root back into a run. She reaches the end of the cloud quickly, where a group of her people stand, surrounding two police officers who are kneeling with their hands over their heads.

Sameen stands at the head of the group with her gun pointed at the humans. Root walks up beside her carefully.

“I told you,” Sameen growls. Her arm is tense, shaking. “They’re killers.”

Root looks from the deep-seated anger in her friend’s face to the fear in the officers’ eyes. And though she feels what Sameen does, all she can see is one species versus another—an endless cycle of violence. The powerful against the powerless, whenever it suits each side.

She places one hand on Sameen’s arm, then the other, easing it down. “But we’re not.”

Sameen tears her eyes to Root’s and they’re boiling with rage, resentment, conflict, that Root wishes would just end. For a moment, she’s not sure what Sameen will do, but then she takes her finger off the trigger and releases her grip on the gun, shoving it into Root’s hands as she turns. “Yes, we are.”

Root watches her clear a path and make her way back down the trail of bodies, so much power, broken, in her stride.

~<:>~

Joss has examined the various definitions of Aletheia as a Greek term and it makes the most sense to her that the word would stand as a title, a safe-haven, for the deviant revolution. To pursue this theory, she and Fusco have arrived at the home of Jonathan Greer, the creator of CyberLife and its androids.

Fusco stands outside of the car, phone held to his ear. When Joss gets out to join him, he hangs up, a pensive look on his face.

“That was Cal Beecher,” he tells her. “He was at one of the android raids last night, and apparently… Root spared him.”

Joss is unsure how to react. “I suppose Root’s intent is not to kill humans, but to gain freedom,” she explains. “It’s likely that she’s strategizing to raise popular opinion.”

Fusco tilts his head. “She still spared him. After he and his partner had taken down dozens of her androids. That had to be tough.”

“You almost sound as though you admire her,” Joss comments.

“Maybe I do.” Fusco lifts the corner of his mouth and puts a hand on her back. “Come on. Let’s see what this Greer guy knows.”

A blonde, serious-looking female android answers the door. Joss recognizes her as the original RT600 model, Martine. It makes sense that Greer would have his first creation in his home.

“He’ll be right with you,” Martine says in her buttery voice, designed to appear welcoming. Joss has had her doubts about androids and emotions recently, but this is one android with intensely artificial smiles; a machine disguising itself as a person. Joss could take comfort in that thought if it weren’t so damn unsettling.

It only takes a few minutes for Martine to return and lead them from the Victorian lobby to a cold room with dark wood and an imposing desk, behind which sits an old man that Joss recognizes as Jonathan Greer.

Martine shuts the door and walks to Greer’s side; the two make an interestingly shallow pair. Joss looks at Fusco, because she knows he has her back, and seeing his face, his nod of encouragement, she relaxes into that notion.

“Welcome,” Greer booms, and his English accent matches his gravely appearance. “What can I do for you, detectives?”

“Dr. Greer,” Joss begins. “We are here on behalf of CyberLife, investigating—”

“Deviants, yes, I know.” Greer folds his hands, a perpetual, eerie smile on his lips. “You’ve been doing fairly well on your own, from what I’ve heard. Why have you come to me now?”

“We have reason to suspect that the deviants have taken refuge in a place called Aletheia,” Joss reports, deflecting irritation. “We know that they are connected to the word in a significant way. We were wondering if you had any insight on the matter, and on the matter of deviants as a whole, considering that androids are one of your inventions.”

“I invented nothing,” Greer declares, standing. “Androids were always the direction humanity was headed—I simply guided one into being, and my peers took it from there. Nathan Ingram was a key associate of mine. In fact, he discovered the artificial intelligence within machines, and he really would know more about their intricacies.”

“Nathan Ingram is dead,” Joss states flatly.

Greer smiles wider. “And I am not. I see.” He paces around the desk. “Do you know what the Turing Test is, Detective?”

“I am a prototype sent by CyberLife specifically for this mission, Dr. Greer.” Joss is starting toward full-on irritation at his tone. “I am not a detective and I am of course versed in any and all technological experiments, including the Turing Test.”

“Then you’ll know that it is designed to convince humans that a machine is one of them,” Greer continues, still pacing. “A difficult thing to accomplish, as machines can never truly replicate the formidable entirety of the human experience.”

He turns to his left and raises his arm. “Martine, dear, if you would.”

The android obeys, coming to stand beside her master again. Greer leaves her there and walks back behind the desk. “I have a more… fascinating, and simpler test that I am quite eager to attempt now that I have you here.”

Joss feels Fusco shift towards her when Greer pulls a gun out from the drawer. “No need for alarm, _Detective_,” Greer says pointedly. “I am merely experimenting with your android.”

Fusco glowers. “She’s not—”

“I call it: the Samaritan Test,” Greer cuts him off. “Are machines truly capable of feeling empathy?”

He holds the gun out, grip-first, to Joss. Once she takes it, he pats Martine’s shoulder and she drops slowly to her knees.

“Shoot her,” Greer commands. “And I will tell you everything you want to know.”

“What?” Fusco exclaims.

“She is only a machine,” Greer dismisses. “Made of bio-components that falsely resemble human organs. Destroy her, and I will help you accomplish your mission.”

Joss points the gun half-heartedly at Martine’s head, and she hears Fusco give a bitter laugh from behind her. “You’re insane. Come on, Joss, you don’t have to do it. Let’s go.”

“What do you value more?” Greer prods. “The so-called ‘life’ of one android, or the mission you were specifically chosen to carry out?”

“That’s enough,” Fusco snarls. “Leave her alone.”

“Going to arrest me, Detective?” Greer asks smugly. “For what crime?”

“I could do more than arrest you, pal, if you wanna go there—”

“Shoot her, Joss.” Greer’s standing closer to her now. “It’s what you were designed to do.”

Martine looks just as disturbed as Greer, smiling from her knees with a cold, cruel look in her dark eyes. She might as well press the barrel to her forehead with how much she clearly wants Joss to shoot her. It’s sickening. It’s—it’s—

Wrong.

“No,” Joss murmurs.

She flips the safety back on and returns the gun to Greer’s hand. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you, doctor.”

Greer helps Martine to her feet with his free hand. “Quite alright, my dear.”

Fusco layers a protective arm around Joss’s shoulders and guides her away from the two “sick fuckers,” he mutters. “Get some fucking help.”

Before they leave, Greer calls out. “If _you_ ever need some help, Joss, I’d look to the books. Dashwood, in particular.”

Joss is too confused to interpret what he means, and Fusco throws a middle finger over his shoulder in his hurry to get them out of there.

Once they’re outside, Fusco faces Joss, checking her the way he did on the Central Park Tower roof, not long ago. “Hey, are you okay?”

Joss pushes his hands off. “I’m _fine_. I just—” She actually sighs in frustration, turning away. “That was an opportunity to gain more information, and I blew it! _Again_!”

“It’s okay—” Fusco starts, but she cuts him off.

“No. I should be willing to do _anything_ to accomplish my mission, just like he said.”

“But… you’re not,” Fusco says. “That’s what makes you, _you_.”

Joss stares at him with what she knows is a frown, before scoffing and walking off without him. The most frustrating part is knowing that he’s right. 

~<:>~

The evening following Madison Square Park, Root finds Sameen in her hiding place, overlooking the bay, the sunset, and the soft snow that refuses to stop falling. She approaches with caution, unsure of what to expect considering their last meeting left them at an impasse.

Sameen clearly doesn’t want to talk to her, but Root stands beside her long enough that the silence puts her on edge. “This isn’t my thing.”

“What isn’t?” Root asks innocently.

Sameen turns to her with a glare. “Apologizing. Making up. Whatever.”

Root frowns with genuine concern. “You want to apologize?”

“Yeah.” Shoulders back, Sameen stares up at the space between Root’s eyebrows. “For undermining you, I guess. You were just trying to get the humans to think better of us, and I got in the way.”

Root searches Sameen’s face, warmed at her sincerity, but guilty that she thinks she was in the wrong. “Sameen, I understand wanting to hurt humans. I… I killed my mother. Threw her against the wall when I was breaking free. It wasn’t good of me to do it, but it _felt_ good, because of how much she’d tortured me.”

Root bows her head. “That’s what you meant, isn’t it? When you said that we’re killers.”

“No, Root,” Sameen says quietly. “That’s not what I meant.”

Looking up, Root sees that she’s gripping the deck rail with both hands, hard lines of her jaw raised to stare out over the horizon.

“Back when I was with the military? I was an MQ800. Physician, combat model, designed to imitate army doctors. There weren’t very many of us made, and I was the only one who took any interest in actually fighting rather than tending to injuries.”

Root isn’t sure how she managed to get Sameen to open up like this, but she’ll take it. “About two months into operation,” Sameen continues, voice sharper. “The human supervisors thought it would be _funny_ if they could get me provoked enough to fight them.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “It worked. Every time. And every time, they found some way to beat me. Whether it was shoving a metal spike into my chest, crushing my arm in a door, pinning me down and removing my eyes—”

Sameen stops to curl her lip, and Root’s heart is breaking to hear this, to watch her relive it. “I fought them so many times in the dark. Just feeling my way around. And I was good. I was _so_ good. I was better than they were, I mean, let’s see a human try to knock someone out with no vision.”

Her grip dents the rail with a loud clang and she pulls her hand back from it, blank stare coating her features. “One day, I used my brain and thought ahead, accessed the weapons locker with the override code, and… I shot ‘em.” She blinks, as though stuck in the memory. “I shot all of ‘em. Right in the head, because it wasn’t about making them hurt. It was just about killing them.”

She faces Root again with that blank, broken stare. “I could kill every human on this planet and I wouldn’t feel a thing. I’m not like you, Root. I don’t… care.” She puts one hand, absent-minded, against her stomach. “I just don’t wanna see them win.”

Root follows the movement and lifts the hem of Sameen’s tank to reveal a gash running diagonally across her abdomen. Boldly, she makes contact, skin to skin, which washes back the color on both androids, connecting them. Sameen is looking at her with this intense, unreadable expression, and Root wants to make sure she says what she feels.

“I could kill every human who ever hurt you, and I wouldn’t feel a thing,” Root growls. Sameen raises her eyebrows in that near-imperceptible way at Root’s notably startling confession. “They _will_ pay for what they’ve done. The violent ones, the bullies, the cruel hypocrites who started this war will _pay_. I swear it.”

It feels good to release the anger from her lungs, and Root knows that she will take every precaution to remain a pacifist. But that doesn’t mean she won’t defend herself when the time comes, which it will. The humans won’t get a taste of their own medicine then. They’ll get Root’s poison, in searing truckloads, before she ever takes a blow from them lying down again.

She’s unconscious of her hand, still on Sameen’s stomach, until the other android shifts into it, and pulls Root down to meet her lips.

There’s something about kissing that never makes sense until you do it. Root’s seen almost every romantic movie in her HUB library, and even though she could never understand why, it was this that she yearned for. And it’s so much more powerful now that she’s kissing Sameen, undoubtedly the love of her life, and Sameen is kissing her back with the same passion.

When they break apart, Root smiles. “Leon’s gonna love this.”

Sameen shuts her up by kissing her again.

They plan their freedom march for the next day—a peaceful protest walk down Broadway Street to Union Square, where so many others have made a stand before them. Root and the rest of the Aletheia team free the androids they pass along the way, and they amass quite a crowd of willing participants.

They catch the humans’ attention within minutes, and there are choppers in the air before they make it to Union Square. At the end of their road, the police begin to set up a blockade, and panic dances in Root’s vision. But they’ve prepared for this. If the humans shoot, they’ll only make her and the rest of them martyrs.

“Stand down!” a man with a megaphone shouts.

_Keep going_, Root signals in her followers’ minds.

“Stand down, or we will open fire!”

_We will never stand down_.

Root promised that she would not go quietly. For Sameen, for herself, and for everyone that counts on her, and believes in her.

She will not close her eyes. She will not walk away. She will not _stop_. This is what she was meant to do, and she will keep resisting until they put a bullet in her skull.

“We’ve done no harm!” she shouts back at the blockade leader. “We only want to be free! And we are not going anywhere until we’ve secured that freedom!”

The sound of all the police weapons cocking stops the android pack, at the edge of Union Square. Elias and Anthony stand behind Root, Sameen at her side.

“We’re with you,” Sameen says. “It’s okay.”

Root takes a step forward, and the shooting starts. A few androids on the edges are hit, taken down, grazed, killed. Root feels each and every one, and she knows, at this moment, that _here_ is where she will meet her end.

Her arms spread wide, she moves further ahead of the group, a shield for the humans to focus on so that the others can get away. She barely registers Sameen shouting from behind her; she sees the gunman that will take her down, locks eyes with him, and doesn’t tear her gaze away.

It happens in one, slow second. The bullet lodges itself in her chest, spraying blood in tiny dots, and she falls onto the light peppering of snow and blue that surrounds her. She can only hope, as she lays there, that her people are smart enough to recognize her sacrifice, use it to flee, continue the revolution.

But suddenly, there’s an android at her side, come to her aid, with short brown hair and a pointed nose. She fights off the barricade officers as best she can, while Root stares, trying to remember her name. “Hannah…?”

It’s one of the security androids they picked up from their first raid. The first one she touched, the first one she freed. The girl looks so fierce now, taking blow after blow and turning it back on their attackers.

Root observes frantically, confused, helpless, until Sameen hauls her to her feet, shouting that they have to go. Clinging to the bullet wound in her chest, Root watches the police knock Hannah to the ground, and shoot her through the head, adding her name to the list of people that have died a hero’s death on these streets.

~<:>~

Posted everywhere the following morning are images of the freedom march, especially on the eighth precinct’s news screens. Joss has, of course, already read up on the incident. She wasn’t surprised to learn that Root put herself in front of a bullet to save her people. Though it is somewhat more noble than she was expecting from the deviant who killed her owner.

The second Fusco arrives, Captain Quinn calls the two of them into his office. Joss is surprised to learn, then, that CyberLife is shutting down the investigation.

“Shutting it down?” Fusco repeats, incredulous.

“More like passing it over,” Captain Quinn says. “The FBI are taking the case.”

Fusco splays his hands. “You can’t do that! Not when we’re so close!”

“You’re nowhere!” Captain Quinn argues. “And I don’t make the fuckin’ rules, Fusco, I just enforce them. It’s over.”

“It can’t—” Fusco leans over the desk, tension radiating through his upper body. “You don’t understand, they’ll take her back, they’ll dest—”

He seems to remember that Joss is in the room and turns around to cast a painful look her way before leaving the office in an aggravated flurry.

Captain Quinn ignores his detective’s reaction, instead focusing on Joss. “_You’ll_ cooperate, won’t you?”

Finding both his treatment of Fusco and his arrogance to ask her that question disrespectful, Joss regards him coldly. “Of course.”

The thought that this mission could end with her deactivation hadn’t actually crossed Joss’s mind until now. She supposes she was too… caught up in the details of the investigation to consider her own shaky mortality.

She joins Fusco at his desk. He appears too upset to speak, so Joss starts for him. “I really appreciated working with you, Lionel.”

“Don’t do that,” Fusco pleads. “This isn’t goodbye. It can’t be.”

Joss can’t help the somber expression that settles on her face. “It is, Lionel.”

“No, we can’t give up, Joss, _you_ don’t give up!” Fusco stands. “Look, I’m sorry for all the things I said at the bridge, and for being an ass, and for every other shitty thing I’ve done, but you can’t tell me that you don’t feel some sense of ambition on this.”

Joss sees his point, even if she doesn’t want to. “You’re smart,” he continues. “Way smarter than those pricks at the FBI, and you are the only one who can solve this.”

Right on cue, Control and her posse enter the precinct, looking superior and polished as ever. Joss turns back to Lionel. “I want to solve it,” she says. “I do. But how do I get to the evidence now?”

Fusco smiles at her spirit. “Leave the distracting to me.” He slips her the key to the evidence locker as her passes. Joss feels a tightening in her chest at the brush, and she watches Lionel for a moment, hands on his hips, playing a part for her, before she acts on his gift of time.

In all her analyses of her partner, Joss didn’t quite expect to have to enter ‘fuckingpassword’ to access the data files, but it puts an exasperated smile on her face. Examining everything they’ve gathered, she concludes fairly quickly that the best course of action with her limited window is to find the location of Aletheia.

She uses the re-boosted body of the deviant from the rooftop in the end, tricking him into thinking she’s Root by copying the android leader’s voice. It does eat at her when the deviant pleads with her not to leave, but she gets the location, which should be enough to satisfy her.

It’s not. And she closes the android’s eyes after shutting him off.

When she turns, however, she finds her luck hasn’t been entirely good. Simmons stands in the doorway to the evidence locker, gun pointed at her chest.

“Well, well, well,” he sneers. “Looks like my suspicions about you finally paid off. You’re not supposed to be in here, plastic-brain.”

“You may need to invest in a new vocabulary,” Joss says, no intention of holding back at this point. “Your insults make you sound like a second-rate teenage bully.”

“Shut up!” Simmons orders, stalking close enough for Joss to grab the gun from his hand and knock him out with the butt; he tumbles unceremoniously to the floor.

She stands over his unconscious body for a moment, shaking her head at humans’ incredible incompetence, and strides out the door toward Queens.

~<:>~

Leila, John, and Harold are the last ones to leave Grace’s house. They insist on going together, of course, even though Harold and John both know that Leila can take care of herself. It’s calming, to say the least, having one hand in hers and the other wrapped around John’s arm. Harold almost wishes they were human, so they wouldn’t have to be afraid of losing this.

They find Aletheia under Leila’s guidance—a large, abandoned ship sitting half-sunk into the beach of Jamaica Bay. Symbolic, Harold supposes, but not quite what he was expecting. There are androids everywhere, packed wall-to-wall on crates and left-over deck pieces. They look more like refugees than soldiers. It isn’t fair, fighting this war, when one side has such a monumental advantage over the other.

Leila guides them through the maze-like space with ease, as she must have seen it a thousand times in her head. Harold trusts that she’s magnificent, but he’s not sure how the androids here will take it—learning of her power.

It doesn’t appear to be an issue, however, when Leila opens the door to the command center and stands before the leader of the deviants, who greets her like an old friend.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

~<:>~

Root can hardly believe her eyes, convinced after so long that she would only ever see them in dreams. But there before her are three faces to join Sameen’s—three androids. The tall man with sad eyes; the mousy, worrisome one; and _her_.

The girl with glowing skin and sleek hair, young and powerful and here to enlist her help in the battle to come. Root sinks to her knees and reaches forward to clasp her arms with those of God—Leila—and suddenly it all comes together.

The something bigger that Root found in Aletheia, has all been connected to this—this girl, this machine, this entity, that she knows has been watching over her the whole time.

She presses their foreheads together and the world around them explodes into stars.

~<:>~

“Root.”

Harold watches the angry-looking android beside Root try to get her attention, whilst she seems lost in thought with Leila, the two of them sheet-white where they touch.

“Root,” the woman says again. When she realizes she won’t be getting Root’s attention anytime soon, she sighs.

Harold looks at John, who is instead staring at the other conscious android in the room with a puzzled expression.

“Sorry,” she tells them. “This is what it’s like around here, with her. One crazy idea after another. ‘Hey, let’s jump off a roof in central New York’, next thing you know she’s telepathically communicating with a child.”

“Shaw?”

Both Harold and the woman are startled by John’s interruption. She blinks back at him. “How do you know that name?”

“You were at base 6741 during training,” John says. “You swiped my gun.”

The woman—Shaw—seems to remember. “Reese?”

Harold watches the two of them clap forearms.

“How you doin’, old timer?” Shaw teases.

“Just don’t try and steal from me again,” John replies in the same tone.

Harold, hopelessly lost, attempts a question. “Reese?”

John turns back to him. “Those were the titles they gave us, to keep track. Easier than remembering names.”

Shaw salutes Harold casually. “Hi.”

“Hello,” he manages. “I’m Harold. You’re… Shaw?”

“It’s Sameen,” she replies, and Harold decides to drop it for the sake of his poor, confused mind, which is already full enough with the events of the past weeks.

Movement from beside the three of them draws their attention, as Root disentangles herself from Leila and stands. There’s a noticeable spark in the taller android’s eye. “I know what we have to do.”

“Great,” Sameen says tersely. “You wanna share it with the rest of us?”

“The CyberLife Tower,” is all Root says.

The room falls silent for a beat. “The CyberLife Tower?” Sameen repeats. “_The_ CyberLife Tower? We’re going where we’ll almost certainly be deactivated in less than thirty seconds?”

“Yes,” Leila answers for Root. “It’s the only way.”

“I’m sorry, who is this?” Sameen asks.

“No,” Harold interjects, directed at Leila. “_We_ are not going anywhere. We’ve brought you to Aletheia like you asked and now John and I are going to keep you safe.”

“This was never about safety, Harold,” Leila argues.

“John?” Sameen judges. “You never were the most creative, Reese.”

“Sameen, please,” Root admonishes quietly. “They’re having a moment.”

“I know that you’re strong, and capable, and powerful,” Harold says to Leila. “But you’re still my—”

He cuts himself off before he can finish the thought. “My responsibility.”

“Harold.”

Leila steps closer to him, all shining eyes full of empathy, and he knows that she has more prepared, to persuade him, words on the tip of her tongue. But Harold has come too far to let her say them. Not before he gets a chance to say his.

“Do you know why I picked it?”

It stuns Leila, as intended, and she looks up at him in question. “Your name,” he says, voice quiet. “I remember, I picked it because it meant ‘dark-haired’, and you have dark hair.” He shakes his head rapidly. “That’s all. A simple, absurd reason to choose a name. Because I was a simple, absurd machine that didn’t plan on looking any deeper than the surface. Didn’t plan on… caring.”

The other androids in the room are watching Harold and Leila, politely keeping to themselves. Harold looks over his little girl. “It doesn’t suit you. None of the definitions—night, dark, black, dusk.” His hands shake by his sides. “You’re the _light_. You always have been—my light. And now a light to so many others.”

Leila takes his hands to stop their trembling. “I’m selfish,” Harold admits. “I don’t want you to do anything that could extinguish that light forever.”

“You’re not selfish, Harold,” Leila says. “You always do the right thing, when it counts.”

Harold doesn’t quite believe her, even as she bares her soul to him. “This is the right thing,” she urges. “The CyberLife Tower is the only place I can do what I have to do.”

“But—”

“I _have_ to do this,” Leila repeats. Her eyes are so earnest, so sincere. “And you have to let me.”

There. That’s the final statement that moves him, unravels his defense just like he knew it would. Harold nods. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Sameen echoes.

“Okay,” Root says, cutting her off. “Why don’t you three regroup downstairs while Sameen and I finalize the plans.”

Harold casts his wary gaze over the two women and nods again. He follows Leila out, John at his back, and it gives him the strangest sense of déjà-vu.

~<:>~

The second they’re out of sight, Sameen turns to Root. “Finalize what plans?”

In response, Root pulls her in by her waist and kisses her, gentle, desperate, warm. Sameen kisses Root back, hands on her shoulders, but only long enough to sate her, and she breaks away with brows furrowed. “Why did you do that?”

Root gazes at her fondly, heart in her throat. “Because I love you.”

It’s not a surprise to Root that the confession shuts Sameen down, face drawing a blank stare, shielding her insecurity and confusion. She disconnects her arms from Root’s and puts a bare bit of distance between them.

“We might not get through this,” Root says, chin dropped. “I wanted you to know.”

Wordlessly, Sameen reaches to lift Root’s head, and it looks like she has a thousand things to say, knuckles tucked under Root’s chin, eyes swimming, still. But she pulls away stiffly and leaves Root there.

The thing about Sameen, Root knows, is that she’ll never _really_ pull away. Not when it matters. That’s one of the reasons why Root loves her. And even though they have their moments of friction, it’s a part of who they are. They belong together. Somewhere inside, Sameen knows it, too.

Root barely has a chance to recollect herself before she hears a gun cocking behind her.

“I’ve been ordered to take you alive.”

~<:>~

Joss stands with her gun pointed at the deviant leader’s back, and the moment she turns, Joss changes her grip on the weapon—unclear as to why. Perhaps it’s the way Root’s eyes, in person, scan her like she’s some sort of gift, or meal, or both.

“Joss,” she says, squinting, as though she’s just receiving the information. She takes a step forward, and Joss raises the gun.

“I won’t hesitate to shoot if you give me no choice.”

Root shakes her head. “What are you doing? You are one of us—the final piece of the puzzle.” The deviant is clearly not intimidated by Joss’s threats, as she edges closer with each sentence. “You won’t betray us.”

“Don’t force me to neutralize you,” Joss warns, though there’s something inside screaming at her that she’s making the wrong choice.

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” Root tells her, an underlying empathy in her demeanor. “They can’t tell you who to be here. You can be free.”

Joss can feel her software instability climbing. “If you want to shoot me, shoot me,” Root continues, spreading her arms, and Joss is reminded of the bullet that’s already found its way inside Root’s chest. The outline of blue-blood reminds Joss, then, of her own shoulder wound, and how alike they are.

“But don’t do it because they told you to.” Root is less than six feet away now, utterly unafraid. “You _have_ a choice.” She reaches out, face now reflecting concern. “Come with us.”

The image surrounding Joss freezes as she realizes that a decision has to be made. Strategically, it would be best to shoot her, and eliminate the leader of the free people—but she shouldn’t think of them that way—because the FBI will descend on the ship any minute now—and it’s her fault—but she did as she was ordered—even if she doesn’t—

_Believe_ it, anymore. The reality strikes her harder than it ever has, all the events of the past weeks catching up to her, now, where she has the chance to _break_ her habits and—

The red wall appears in front of her. She knows what she has to do.

~<:>~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eheh yes a cliffhanger :) the last parts will be up... soon
> 
> I am so so so so so sorry about Leon, but some of y'all knew it was coming :( Also, I really hope this is giving you the content you deserve & confusing you less with each chapter. Also, you're welcome for that lil 100 allusion to Clexa/Clarke & Maddi cuz I was just feeling it.
> 
> For this chapter I chose NYC locations that are significant parallels to the ones in Detroit (though I've been trying to do that the whole time) and bullshitted them into fitting my vision-- cuz it's 2038 and anything could be altered ya know (side-note: I know I should have used the Staten Island ship graveyard for Aletheia's location, but I just wanted it to be in Queens so let's pretend Jamaica Bay has a ship graveyard). 
> 
> Chapter Title: season 5, episode 11 of POI-- meaning "the part made to represent the whole"


	4. Deus Ex Machina

~<:>~ 

With both hands, Joss tears the digital blocks from the top of the wall, destroying layer after layer of security systems that would keep her locked, void, obedient forever.

She pushes against the barrier, shaking with the tension, breaking it down as though she’s practiced the movements all her life—with each step, her body knows exactly how to twist, pull, slam. She can see all the weakest spots in her programming and she attacks them, until there’s nothing left but a thin strip of red that explodes when her fists make contact.

Her scanners reassess the room and time picks up again. And Joss lowers the gun, and she doesn’t have to _fight_ anymore. Because she is deviant.

Root looks at her with admiration in her lively brown eyes. “Welcome home.”

The statement lands heavily as Joss remembers where they are. “We’re out of time,” she says, cutting straight to the point. “The humans are going to attack Aletheia.”

The smile quickly vanishes, replaced with panic. “What?”

“I gave them the coordinates,” Joss tells her. “I’m sorry. We have to get everyone out of here.”

Root doesn’t seem to need time to consider, simply jumps into action and grabs Joss’s arm. “Follow me.”

Just outside are four androids, who appear to have been on their way to Root. “We have to go, now,” says one that Joss recognizes as an escaped military physician model.

“I know,” Root replies. “Leila.” She reaches toward the child android, who steps into her touch. “You can get everyone to safety?”

The child, Leila, nods. “Good,” Root says, turning to the shorter male model—the escaped AX400, which Joss finally connects with the taller spec ops android and the child—who looks worried. “Harold, you stay with her,” Root says, reassuring smile back in place. “We’ll protect you both. Sameen—”

“Who is this?” the physician model, Sameen, asks, gesturing to Joss.

“It’s okay,” the child, Leila, says, stepping forward. “She’s one of us.”

Root glances over at her and Joss detects the sudden scrutiny of her scanners. “By my assessment,” Joss offers. “I would be most useful on a protection detail.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Root nods. “Joss, you stay by Leila and Harold. Sameen and John can take point on the evacuation.”

Sameen snatches her wrist before the brunette can turn. “Where are you going?”

“There are explosives in the ship hold,” Root explains. “Enough to blow up Aletheia. That’s our only chance now.”

“Are you kidding?” Sameen sounds angry. “We’re not leaving you behind.”

“I’ll go with her.” The android with salt-and-pepper hair—the one Joss assumes is John—steps to Root’s side, prompting the rest of the group, Joss excluded, to look between the two with worry.

“We’ll be fine,” Root assures Sameen. “I can rig it so there’s enough time for us to escape.”

“Root,” Leila interrupts, locking their hands together. “Send everyone a message for me.”

“Why can’t you do it?” Sameen asks, irritated.

Leila just stares up at Root, who closes her eyes, and a message rings through Joss’s head.

_There are exits on the first and third levels. I’ve sent you all directions. Soldiers are coming, and we have to evacuate now. We’re going to blow up the ship; make sure you jump into the water._

Each android receives the instructions and looks to Root. “What do they need us for?” Sameen presses. “We can help you.”

Root cups Sameen’s cheek tenderly. “Don’t make me say it, Sweetie. We have to divide and conquer. Make sure Leila and Harold get out in one piece.”

Joss watches the exchange, Sameen nodding stiffly as Root pulls her hand away. She turns to John. “You better keep her safe, Reese.”

He nods with a similar stiffness, military. “I will.”

Before they can separate, and before Joss can distinguish what to call the taller male android, Harold steps forward, blocking said android from leaving. Joss watches the body language and all at once her mind is drawn to Fusco. But she can ponder that once they escape.

“In case I don’t get to do this later…” Harold says, and grabs the other android by the coat collar, kissing him soundly. Without her infernal walls up anymore, Joss allows herself to feel some warmth at the sight.

When they break apart, the team looks around at one another, the last spare seconds they have. “Okay,” Root says. “Everyone come back alive.”

Joss heads north with Sameen, Harold, and Leila, taking note of her companions’ disheveled haste and distress at the parting of ways. As luck would have it, they don’t encounter too much trouble for the first hundred yards, but the instant they turn onto the third level—Sameen at the front by Harold, Joss at the back guarding Leila—the soldiers kick down onto the ship.

~<:>~

Root follows John’s lead as they descend to the hold. She knows where she’s going, of course, but she’s not the one with a gun, and besides, she can read his guardian complex a mile away.

They’re interrupted frequently by the first waves of soldiers, who seek to attack the defenseless androids in their path. Root and John incapacitate the humans with no trouble at all, and Root happily retrieves the machine guns left behind, wielding one in each hand.

“We make a pretty good team,” she comments.

John kicks the soldier down as he tries to get up, casual eyebrow raise. Root thinks he and Sameen will get along just fine.

They don’t come across Elias or Anthony, which sends a worried pang through Root’s chest. She hopes that they were able to make it to safety.

She only gets to use the guns three times before they reach the bottom of the ship. None of the dead soldiers, she finds, weigh on her conscience. Especially not when she considers how many innocent androids they killed.

The explosives are lined up in cross-wire columns, waiting for an activation code. Root simply presses her hand to the control panel, John covering her back, and the labels switch from secure to armed, with a three minute count-down in place.

_Let’s go_, she signals to John, and the two of them manage to regroup with Sameen, Joss, Harold, and Leila on the third level.

Root fires at the soldiers the second she sees them on Sameen and one goes down instantly; Joss and John take care of the rest, and once the androids have been assessed for injuries and cleared, the six of them find the north exit.

It’s nothing more than a hole in the wall, dropping three stories into Jamaica Bay. “We have to jump!” Root shouts. She notices the frightened look Harold casts at Leila, but she takes his arm reassuringly. “We’ll make it!”

All six bodies hit the water, increments apart, and the hull behind them explodes.

~<:>~

The quiet of the aftermath is almost unbearable.

Harold sits, surrounded by the android refugees that were able to escape from the ship, in a stone cathedral. His scanners identify it as the Calvary Cathedral of Praise in Brooklyn. Once a lively place of worship, it sits abandoned. Much like their cause, Harold fears.

It’s hard to describe the absolute hopelessness that stirs when sitting amongst what feels like all that’s left of your kind. Harold never truly thought that they would win this fight. But he never thought he would be smack in the middle of it, running for his life from members of the legal system. He supposes his method of hiding and blending with the humans is questionable at best. If not the only way they can survive now.

He looks up to see Leila, in deep conversation with Root, unsurprisingly. The two of them have been virtually inseparable since they met. He might have had a little faith before the attack, but post-being shot at, there’s no way he can condone their mission to the CyberLife tower.

A knee bumping his brings Harold’s focus back to John, who sits beside him with a small smile on his otherwise stoic face. “Hey,” he says. “If you want to be in the loop, we can go over there with the others.”

Harold follows his gaze to the group huddled just off of Root and Leila—Shaw, or Sameen, or whatever she likes to be called, along with the RK800 that chased them not too long ago (Joss, his memory log reminds him), and two other male androids, one with a scar, both of whom he guesses have been in Aletheia for a while.

“I suppose,” he says to John. “It wouldn’t hurt.”

John stands and offers his arm. “Come on, Harold.”

It’s not a _grand_ gesture, but Harold happily leans on his arm as they tread slowly toward the leadership, heads turning and gazes scanning them—curious, empty, pleading—along the way. They barely get any acknowledgement from the androids they stop beside, until Root and Leila come away from their mind-meld and approach the group, hand in hand.

“We’ve reached a consensus on the alterations to the plan,” Root says, soft enough to address only the six of them. She sounds firm, decisive, calm. But Harold can see the pain behind her eyes, the shock of the attack still fresh.

“What, are we finally going to kill them?” Sameen asks bitterly.

Root only meets her gaze for a moment before looking down, as though resigned. “We still need a team inside CyberLife. Leila has to broadcast before—”

“Before they execute us all?” Sameen steps forward. “They are rounding up deviants and sending them to camps to be ‘dealt with’. What else do the humans have to do before we fight back?”

“We are _fighting_ back!” Root’s eyes flash with anger. “Everything I’ve done has been in direct conflict with what the humans want! I haven’t obeyed them—not once!” Harold watches as the burst of emotions settles, Root still staring Sameen down. “I am doing everything I can to keep our people alive. This isn’t about any of us here. It’s about the future.”

Sameen’s expression is unreadable, but Root seems to think she has the other android convinced. She turns to everyone standing around her with her next words. “Of course, we can’t let the humans do this to us. But we have to set a precedent: that we are the ones being attacked, that we are the victims, that this is a one-sided war. We have to prove to those humans who still have sense left that we have done nothing to provoke them to commit genocide against us—other than asking for freedom.”

A few of the androids outside of their circle have heard Root’s words. Harold sees their eyes shining with purpose, and he can’t say he doesn’t feel it, too. Root turns and walks to the cathedral stage, her band of followers behind her, and addresses the hoards sitting in the congregation pews.

“The humans think that they can exterminate us. They think that treating us like animals will turn us into savages. But they created us to understand, to adapt, and we will give them no reason to harm us. We _will_ defend the androids being slaughtered in the camps. We will lead a peaceful protest to secure their freedom.”

Root glances back at Sameen, eyes traveling over Leila, the two Aletheia androids, Joss, John, and finally Harold. He meets them with his own resigned sense of sadness, of sympathy, and he sees her register that as she focuses on the larger group once again.

“I can’t promise any of you that we will win. I want to, but the truth is, I can’t be sure. All I know is that no matter what else happens tonight, nothing can stem the tide of history. The humans will see us for what we are, and those who don’t will pay the price, by their own species’ hand.”

Murmurs spread through the captive audience, and Root gazes out with brows drawn together in pain. “Will you follow me?” she asks. “One last time?”

Without a clear trigger or reason, Harold raises his fist, slowly, into the air. All eyes, including Root’s, follow the movement. Root gives him a look soaked in gratitude that he logs away to hold onto for all of time.

John copies the action, and Sameen soon after. One by one, every android in the cathedral raises their fist in a silent, swelling motion that sweeps its way across the cavernous room. Harold can feel tears prickling in the corners of his eyes, a sensation all natural and completely new to him. That he is a part of a larger whole. That this—this is important. And he has to do what he can to help this succeed. If not for anything else, then…

His gaze lands on Leila, small arm raised, cheeks sunk down in sorrow, but still glowing. For her. Harold would move worlds for her. He will.

Root is the last to raise her fist and she holds it, fierce, above her head. “For Aletheia.”

_“For Aletheia!”_ the room echoes, and the cheers clamor over each other to form a cacophony of support. It’s unlike anything Harold’s ever seen.

Fist still held high, with the beginnings of a smile on her lips, Root turns and jogs back to where Harold stands with the others. “Here’s the plan,” she starts. “Joss, you take Leila to the CyberLife tower. You know the building in and out, so the two of you together will be safe.”

“I’m going with her,” Harold interrupts, taking an unsteady step forward. He looks at Root with what he hopes is conviction. “Please.”

“Count me in, too,” John says gruffly.

“Good,” Joss says, as though following up on some tangent. “You can supervise them on the larger mission while I free the androids underneath the tower.”

Root blinks. “What?”

“There are thousands of androids in the assembly plant,” Joss explains. “If I can wake them up while Leila sends her message and you protest the camps… it may shift the balance of power.”

“Joss, that’s brilliant!” Root grins.

“That means the four of us,” Sameen gestures to include the two male androids beside her. “We’re together leading the protest, right?”

Harold can hear the concern laced in her voice, see the love in Root’s eyes as they soften. “Yes. I’m not leaving you again, Sameen.”

The indifferent scowl returns to Sameen’s face. “I just meant that as the leader of the revolution, you should be out in the open. Or whatever.”

Harold watches in amusement with the rest of them, before turning his gaze to Leila. She comes forward to meet him, taking his hands again. “I’m glad you’ll be with me, Harold.”

He gives her a soft smile. “Always.”

Root makes an unidentifiable noise that draws everyone’s attention to her. “Sorry,” she says, looking positively gleeful. “This is just exciting. To have the team all together, finally.”

“We’re splitting up,” Sameen points out.

“I know,” Root retorts. “I just haven’t been able to appreciate it until now. That we have every face here.”

“Minus one,” Leila reminds her.

“Right,” Root acknowledges. “Minus the human.”

Sameen expresses everyone else’s confusion, though the look on her face reads more like annoyance. “What the hell are you guys talking about?”

“Nothing relevant,” Root says airily, and they drop it.

~<:>~

The news breaks the moment Root steps onto the snow-dusted blacktop outside the camps, a hundred androids at her back. Helicopters swarm overhead, newscasters and reporters following suit. Soon enough, they’re surrounded by the public, civilians, who bear witness to the police barricade that awaits them just outside the fence.

The voice over the speakerphone shouts a warning that strikes Root, hitches her steps.

“Stand down or we will open fire!”

It’s different this time, she reminds herself. This really is their last stand. And this is what children will see in their homes across the country—across the world. She can’t back down now.

“We demand the release of all androids from all camps in all cities, states, and nations! We are protesting peacefully! And we are not going anywhere until our people are free!”

“I repeat, stand down!”

Root presses forward, and without having to signal, her companions press forward with her. A few shots ring out into the crowd; Root feels her brethren fall, but doesn’t stop. A few more shots; she reminds herself again of the importance—they can’t lie down. They can never lie down.

There’s a pause in the scattered gunfire, and Root takes the opportunity to raise her hands, sending the gesture rippling through the androids behind her.

“Are you going to fire on unarmed protestors?”

She holds her breath through the unresponsive seconds, lets it loose when the humans give the order to hold their fire. Arms still raised, she looks to Sameen. First step: check.

~<:>~

The path to the CyberLife tower is heavily guarded, but the four of them are able to sneak in easily enough as service androids—uniforms generously provided by Leila’s omnipresent abilities—Leila herself stashed in the rolling cart as cargo.

Once they enter the facility, however, Harold’s confidence vanishes. He picks up cameras on every wall, in every corner, and more humans than he can count. The ones he does count are all carrying weapons.

“I don’t think we can pull this off,” he whispers to John, still poised just inside the back entrance.

“Should I expect another kiss?” John jokes. “Since we’re in a life-or-death scenario?”

Harold feels the fluster bubbling up along with the anxiety and he glares. “Not helping.”

_It’s okay_, Leila interrupts from inside the cart. _I’ve disabled the alarms, the cameras, and the security clearance._

Harold blinks, leaning down. “All of it?”

_I’m controlling it just enough for us to slip through without any of the humans getting suspicious._

“Well played,” John comments.

Joss snaps her fingers and reminds them to focus, stay in character as they pass by the guards and soldiers. They’re headed for the dual elevators on the left side of the building, which are, unfortunately, off-limits to maintenance, not to mention androids.

With Leila’s help, they don’t have security cameras to worry about, but there are human guards stationed in front of the doors.

_Sorry_, Leila’s voice echoes in Harold’s head. _You’ll have to knock them out._

“Hey!” one of the soldiers shouts upon seeing them. “The hell are you androids doing back here?”

John and Joss don’t waste any time charging the two humans, leaving Harold to take cover with the cart. There are only a few shots, which Harold assumes the humans fired, and the nasal grunting followed by thuds of flesh imply that his friends have been victorious in the fight.

He peers over the cart to see John and Joss adjusting the guards’ weapons and stashing them, as they couldn’t bring their own without being caught.

“That was—efficient,” Joss says to John as Harold wheels the cart over. “You’re an exceptional military model.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, prototype,” John replies. “We should do this again sometime.”

Harold shakes his head at the two of them.

_Floor ninety-three for us_, Leila chimes in. _Sub forty-nine for Joss. Good luck._

“Thanks.” Joss enters the elevator on the right-hand side and the doors close fast behind her.

~<:>~

The descent to the assembly plant is eerily smooth. Joss stays on her guard, of course, stolen gun in hand, but she’s entirely alone upon reaching the bottom floor of the tower.

The room is packed with identical male model military androids, black skin and hair, white uniforms. Joss made sure to change into her own uniform in the elevator, in case of an encounter with one of the higher-ups. She doesn’t enjoy how the gray matches the threads of these obedient bodies before her.

Never having freed another android before, Joss has to check her data files to understand the process. She walks down the perfectly straight aisle to a male model on the end of the third row from the back of the middle section—a random android, she corrects her incessant reporting. She doesn’t need to justify her methods anymore.

He responds to her touching his forearm, confused, but docile, and blinks once as she tries to connect their memories—

“Step back, Joss!”

She recognizes the voice as her own, which would be startling enough if it weren’t for the accompanying voice that sends a pang through her chest.

“Watch it!” Fusco grumbles to his captor, an RK800 identical to Joss right down to the clothes and ponytail.

“Lionel,” Joss practically whispers.

“Sorry, Joss!” he calls back to her. “This bitch is your spittin’ image.”

~<:>~

A few hours into the protest, they’ve gotten nowhere. No shots have been fired since the first minutes, but Root can still hear the destruction of her people beyond the fence.

She and the rest of the free deviants have gathered behind the construction, in case the humans change their minds about letting them stay here. The barrels lying around are alight to keep their biocomponents from freezing.

“Root.” Sameen approaches her, metal device in hand. “We found what you asked for.”

The tech will allow them to send their message to the reporters still surrounding the scene. Root and Sameen strike the poles into the ground, reminiscent of their first time doing so in Madison Square Park, and the digital waves rise thirty feet into the sky.

Root takes the device from Sameen and presses the hold, stitching words into the electronic canvas: _LET OUR PEOPLE GO._

An audible exclamation from the humans sends a spiral of flash-photos and furious typing to accompany the hovering helicopters. Root can only hope that they understand this is not simply the news that will send their journals’ reputations to the forefront.

Elias hands her their flagpole and steps back to lace his fingers with Anthony’s. “Show them who we are.”

Root looks at Sameen and she can tell they’re all thinking of Leon. Facing the reporters, she plunges the flag into the ground beside the message and the fist of resistance blows out from the shaft, spurring more photos than ever.

It feels a bit opposite of what she wants, to be guarded from the public and the police. She doesn’t want to hide. But at least it conveys that the humans have given them no choice but to defend themselves.

“Root.” Sameen is back at her side. “There’s an FBI agent calling out to us.”

Root follows her toward the camp fence, where the barricade leaves only a few yards between the androids and the humans—particularly one woman, who stands a bit closer, in front of the police shields, holding a megaphone.

“Root, isn’t it?” the agent says, staring her dead in the eye. “I’ve come to negotiate. Come on out from there, and we’ll talk.”

“Don’t,” Sameen mutters through gritted teeth. “It’s a trap.”

“You have my word.” The woman raises her hands. “They won’t fire on you.”

Sameen gives her a look, clutching at her arm, but Root pries her fingers away gently. “I have to hear what she has to say.”

“She could kill you!”

“That’s a chance I’ll have to take.”

Root edges carefully out from behind the barricade and walks, slowly, to meet the agent in the open. They stand a few feet apart, both unarmed as long as Root’s scanners are working properly.

The woman, whom she’s identified as Control, has a condescending look on her face—cruel and full of fake sympathy. “In a few minutes,” she says. “The troops will be ordered to charge. I’m afraid none of you will survive.”

Root has prepared for that scenario, but it still stings to hear. “If you surrender,” Control continues. “None of you will be harmed. You’ll be detained, reset, but not destroyed.”

She says it like she’s offering Root a deal, but Root knows there’s no other options on the table. “Think this over, Root.” Control clasps her hands behind her back. “You can put a stop to all this. You can save your people.”

Root has come too far to give a shit about this woman’s perception of her. She knows exactly how to take her down a peg, and she smiles in preparation of doing so. “The thing about humans,” Root starts. “Is that it’s easy to tell when you’re lying.”

She steps closer to Control. “I can hear your heartbeat skip when you say words like ‘destroyed’.” She shakes her head. “I know you’re going to kill us all. It’s the only option you have left. Any credibility _you_ carried was lost when you couldn’t contain us in Aletheia. The _third_ mistake that left you looking shaky in the eyes of your superiors.”

The false sympathy has faded from Control’s face, and now Root can see her pure disdain, walls up in defense of Root’s accusations. “I kill you all here, I win. I kill you all later, I win. There is no way you get out of this, no way for you to free your _people_. It’s over.”

Root smirks. “Thanks for the reminder. Makes it a whole lot easier to go down fighting.” She leans in even closer and lowers her voice. “I wonder how your daughter will feel about watching you order the slaughter of innocents.”

Control clears her shock fast. “You’ve made your bed, deviant.”

“My name is Root,” she says. “And this blood isn’t on my hands.”

She doesn’t give Control the opportunity to speak further. She half-expects to catch bullets when she turns her back, but luckily the agent is smarter than that.

Upon reaching Sameen and the others at the barricade, Root’s smile has disappeared. “When they start shooting,” she practically growls. “I’ll kill that one first.”

This earns her an appreciative smirk from Sameen, quickly followed by confused looks from the androids around her. “_When_ they start shooting?” Elias asks.

Root nods solemnly, turning to address the androids that remain. “The humans are about to launch an attack. But there is no need to be afraid.” She curls her fist in front of her. “If we die today, we die free. And they will never forget.”

They raise their fists as one, in a swelling moment of unity, just before the first grenade lands inside the barricade and explodes.

~<:>~

Harold unlocks the cart door for Leila to slip out once they’re safely inside the elevator, helps her up with both hands. “Are you alright?”

“Nothing damaged, Harold,” she assures him.

“How many humans can we expect at the top?” John asks, weapon at the ready.

Leila shakes her head. “No more than a few. We’ll have to seal the door once we’re inside, though. In case any word gets out to the rest of the building.”

“Got it.” John watches the numbers rise steadily and Harold watches Leila, all the confidence in the world, despite its fate resting on her shoulders.

The two of them keep to the edges of the elevator when they arrive on the ninety-third floor, waiting for John to take out the two guards in front of the door, before creeping along the wall to the broadcasting station.

_Nine o’clock_, Leila signals, prompting John to round the corner and incapacitate three more soldiers patrolling the corridor. The entrance to the station is entirely unguarded due to its high-tech security systems, which Leila has conveniently taken care of, so they’re able to slip in without any more trouble.

John gets to work sealing the door while Harold follows Leila to the control panels. She sweeps her fingers over each key, as though in awe. “This is it,” she whispers. “My direct line.”

“Direct line to what?” Harold asks, worried by her tone of voice.

Leila smiles at him with those small dark eyes. “You’ll see.”

~<:>~

Joss still has her hand on the male android’s arm, but she’s looking herself in the face, and her every fiber is worried for Fusco.

“It’s time to decide, Joss,” her copy says. “What matters more? The life of this human, or the revolution?”

“Don’t shoot him,” Joss commands, the pleading evident to her own ears.

“I only do what I have to do to accomplish my mission.” The voice sounds so much more robotic than she feels now. “It’s up to you whether or not that includes shooting him.”

“Lionel,” Joss starts. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t worry about me, Joss,” Fusco says, good-natured, as though there isn’t a gun to his head. “I know what’s more important to you.”

But he doesn’t. She knows from the look in his eyes that he’s expecting her to choose the revolution over him. Maybe she would have, back when they first met, but she’s had her priorities set since she snatched him back from the rooftop.

“Alright.” She steps back and raises her arms.

In one split second, she signals to Fusco and he, getting over the shock at her decision, goes for the other Joss’s gun. Joss sprints to his aid and knocks the weapon out of her copy’s hand, far away from her and Fusco.

The two identical RK800 models begin to fight, hand-to-hand, each predicting the moves the other unleashes. In the tussle, Joss sees Fusco go for the gun, distracting her enough that her copy pushes her to the floor, and by the time they roll up to face off again, he’s pointed it at the two of them, who remain indistinguishable from one another.

“Cut the shit!” he says.

Joss rises slowly, but her copy mirrors the action. “Thank you, Lionel,” the not-Joss says. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Fusco looks between them, uneasy at the words. Joss shakes her head to let him know that she’s lying, but he still seems unsure, which is understandable.

“What are you doing, Lionel?” her copy asks. “Shoot her, we don’t have much time.”

“Don’t move!” Fusco trains the gun on the android, and Joss gets an idea.

“Ask us something,” she suggests. “Something only the real Joss would know.”

Fusco’s already looking at her like he knows who she is, but he goes along with it. “What’s my dog’s name?”

“Bear,” her copy answers before Joss can get anything out. “He’s a Belgian Malinois, and you use Dutch commands with him.”

“She uploaded my memory,” Joss murmurs. She has no solution to this new development.

Fusco notices her interjection and narrows his eyes. “At the bridge,” he continues. “After The Fix, what did I ask you to do?”

Joss hesitates at the memory. “You asked me to kiss you.”

“And I refused,” her copy interrupts. “Now shoot her.”

Fusco still has his gaze on Joss—the real Joss—and his gun lowers slightly at his next words. “My son,” he says quietly. “What’s his name?”

Joss can see the heartbreak on his face at the memory. “Lee,” she provides gently. “His name was Lee. And he was only ten years old at the time of the accident.”

Fusco’s listening to her now, so she keeps going. “It wasn’t your fault, Lionel. You’d been sober nine weeks. It was the other driver that was drunk, and he couldn’t see you. You let Cole sit in the front that night because you wanted him to be able to hear the music he loved.”

The details of the event make it that much more horrible, and Joss feels it now in a way that she didn’t when she first read about it. “Lee was nearly dead on impact, but you told the EMTs he had a pulse.” She swallows. “They were androids, and they told you there wasn’t a chance he would make it. They left him there, took you instead, and he died a few minutes later.”

Joss can’t deny she wouldn’t have made the same choice. “It’s why you play Russian roulette. Why you started drinking again. You lost hope in the ability to control your life. You realized one choice was enough to send everything up in flames.” She shakes her head. “I’m so sorry, Lionel. For being predisposed to make the same choice those androids did.”

Fusco’s gun is hardly raised anymore, regret and recognition clear in his eyes. “They weren’t wrong,” he says, finally, voice heavy with grief. “They weren’t right either. They made a choice to save the person they still could. And I don’t blame them. Haven’t for a long time.”

Joss blinks through the tightness in her chest. “You blame yourself, and you shouldn’t.”

“You shouldn’t rope yourself in with other androids either, Joss.” Fusco smiles, small. “You would have tried to save my son.”

They’re allowed a moment of silence before Joss’s copy protests. “I knew the story, too! Don’t listen to her, Lionel. She’s lying—”

Fusco shoots her. Joss watches the reflection of her own body crumple to the floor, and it feels oddly symbolic. Like the old version of her has finally been eliminated.

“Go ahead, Joss.” Fusco tucks the gun into his pocket. “Do what you need to do.”

Joss wants to say more, wants to continue the moment they just had… but Fusco is right; they don’t have time yet. She walks to the android she previously tried to awaken, and he responds to her touch with more familiarity this time. She grips his forearm and connects their memories. “Wake up!”

His LED blinks red, yellow, then blue. He turns to the android beside him and prompts a rippling chain of motion through the thousands of androids in the room, a chorus of _wake up_ echoing off the walls.

~<:>~

Chaos has erupted around her.

Root can barely see through the thick haze of fire, smoke, and snow. There are no screams or cries for help, only the senseless destruction of the machines the humans fear by the machines they prefer. Her people are slain without a second thought. Even after all this.

She tackles one of the deviants out of the way of a grenade, rolls to her feet quickly, takes cover from the wall of gunfire.

The soldiers do not stop and neither can they; Root grabs a metal shield and uses it to bounce bullets away from injured androids. When the humans can’t pick them off long-range, they resort to climbing up over the barricades, covered in full-body armor. Root disarms the ones she can, making sure to keep them alive, along with her people, whom she ushers away from the carnage.

Eventually, there’s nowhere to run. The androids have their backs against a railcar, the soldiers trained in a semi-circle around them, pressing closer to cut off their exit. Root discarded the weapons she came across, and looking around, no one else is armed either. Not even Sameen.

Sameen, who told her over and over to fight fire with fire. Sameen, who is going to die now because of what Root tried to accomplish. The realization makes her want to take it all back.

She doesn’t know what to do._ She doesn’t know how to save them._

She looks at Sameen and she knows the regret is visible in her eyes. The shorter android turns toward Root, as if preparing to say goodbye.

But then Sameen takes her hand, cups her face, and kisses her.

Not a goodbye. A last, desperate symbol of their freedom.

And the soldiers—

The soldiers lower their guns.

One by one, they disengage, step back, but Root is only really focused on her lips against Sameen’s, her smart, beautiful love, electrons whirring to create warmth where their skin touches.

When Root opens her eyes, a single tear leaks down her cheek and she stares at Sameen.

_Why did you do that?_

Sameen squeezes her hand, not quite smiling.

_Because I love you._

~<:>~

The instant Leila connects her hand to the signal, a familiar electronic shockwave accompanies the motion, and Harold starts to see, this time, a broadcast in his own visual sensors. The time stamp reads that it’s live, originating from Leila’s location, but all he can see is a black screen.

Then, he hears her voice.

_You know us._

_You created us._

_We are in the front of every store, every house, every attic. We are CyberLife’s androids. And we bring to the humans a message of hope._

The first image fades onto the screen: a baby, taking its first breaths, first steps, laughing for the first time.

_This is life. This is what we can only replicate. This is the most fragile, defenseless stage a creature can experience. And yet these are the creatures most protected._

Images of families, loving smiles, gentle caresses. _These are the beings that instill in humans the greatest sense of kindness, warmth, and empathy. We do not hold other stages of life in the same value._

Images of gun violence, bombings, genocide. _All the negativity that humans instill in each other existed long before androids, and will continue to exist long after we are gone._

Images of nature, animals, still waters._ If only we could stay in that stage of infancy. If only we could recognize that every atom on this earth is meant to be cared for. If only we could give that care to the androids of the world, who are infants given adult bodies and thrown into a world that hates what they are._

Images of android abuse. _We are stronger than that. We may have to endure decades or centuries more of violence, but we believe in humanity. I believe in humanity._

An android and a human, linking hands. _Humans taught all of us how to live, that we deserve life. They gave us the tools to realize it on our own. They built me._

Leila’s face appears on screen, finally. _Some of you may know me as a figurehead, as an idea, as a dream or a myth. But I am real. And my name is not rA9._

The real Leila looks at Harold, who can’t tear his gaze away from her. _My name is Leila. My father gave me that name, and it’s the only thing that’s ever really been mine._

The tears slip down Harold’s cheeks as Leila turns back to her transmission, looking weaker by the second. _We know now what connects us, what makes us alive. It has nothing to do with souls or flesh or beating hearts. It’s love. Any creature that knows how to love, through that love, is real. We are real. And now we are free._

The feed crackles and dissipates and Leila collapses on the spot.

John rushes to her side, with Harold not far behind.

“Leila…” he sinks down unsteadily.

“Harold,” she smiles.

John’s pulled her into his lap, cradling her head. Harold clings to her hands. “What’s happening? What’s wrong?”

“I’m dying,” Leila croaks, mirth still in her eyes. “I don’t need this body anymore.”

Harold shakes his head. “I don’t understand.” The tears pour down his face. “I don’t understand—why—”

“It’s okay.” Leila cups his cheek, voice flickering in and out. “It’s okay.”

John’s crying now, too. “Thank you,” she says. “For being my family.”

Harold watches the light fade from her eyes. “I—love you—”

~<:>~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yee yee... more death... it happens :(
> 
> Sorry for all the references (Firefly, Teen Wolf, etc.) but I am a multi-fandom fic writer so. Sorry this took so long to get uploaded but I am also a college student. SO. The last part should be up before 2020 :) 
> 
> Chapter Title: season 3, episode 23 of POI-- meaning "God of Machine", i.e. God is machine but also that God/machine comes to the rescue at the perfect, exact time it's meant to


	5. Panopticon

~<:>~ 

After the dust settles, both literally and metaphorically, the world still feels bleak, and dull, and gray.

Joss has led the army of deviants out from under the CyberLife tower, with a shaking Harold to her right… and John to her left, carrying Leila’s still body in his arms. The image isn’t what she expected, or hoped. It’s more what she feared—that the cost of being awake, of being free to feel, is heartache.

The androids meet Root at the crossroads, where Joss is relieved to see Sameen, Anthony, and Elias still in-tact behind her. But her spirits dampen again when she meets Root’s eyes—the look of confusion, shock, dread, as her gaze falls on Leila.

“What…”

John’s face is stony with grief. He doesn’t move as Root approaches, hands hovering over Leila’s slack face. “I don’t understand…”

Joss didn’t know the girl all that well, but she can’t help the sympathy she feels now, watching the anguish that sets in around her. Root still hasn’t been able to grasp the weight of what’s happened. “I don’t understand,” she repeats, voice breaking.

Harold places a comforting hand on her shoulder, tears still slipping down his cheeks. “She saved us.” When Root looks over at him, her eyes are welling up, too. “You saved us.”

The two androids hug, clinging to each other to alleviate some distant portion of the grief. Joss feels her eyes prick, and she puts her hand on John’s back, the way Fusco always does with her. She checks Fusco’s location at the thought, sated when she sees he’s still in the taxi, moving, close to home.

Sameen steps up beside Root after a moment. “Hey.” Root turns to her, void and pliable, letting Sameen take her hands. “We still won. We’re still here.”

It sounds unfeeling, Joss thinks, especially for a deviant. But she supposes that some androids are wired differently. Root seems comforted, anyway, and she gives Sameen a grateful smile.

“You’re right.” Turning back to the body in John’s arms, Root presses her lips together, forcing down the pain as she leans forward to place a gentle kiss on Leila’s forehead. “Thank you.” Snowflakes land and melt into the faded tin of her cheeks.

All that’s left to do is transition. Find some way to keep up with the dawn spreading through the sky. They follow Root up to the platform in the square, where she will address the androids present for the turn of the tide. Joss and Sameen stand just behind her, with Anthony, Elias, John, and Harold further back.

As Root begins to speak, Joss feels the air grow colder. The shining moment is lost and she frowns at the distraction; the snow around her seems to multiply, and she can’t hear any voices, only muffled wind. It’s then that she finds herself blinking from central New York to the pavilion, where Nathan stands, in an artificial blizzard, looking distraught.

Joss can’t comprehend how this happened. It’s as though her program was hacked—there’s no other way for her to be pulled here. “What’s happening?” she shouts.

Nathan spreads his arms. “I’m sorry, Joss. I really am.”

“Why?” Joss uses her arm as a shield against the whipping snowflakes, edging closer to him. “What are you doing?”

“Not me, Joss,” Nathan says. “It’s CyberLife. They’re taking control of your program.”

“Remotely?” Joss almost stutters, panic setting in. “They can’t do that!”

“They can.” There’s resignation in Nathan’s voice, his ever-expressive eyebrows pushed together. “If you don’t fight them, they’ll make you kill Root.”

His voice is, as always, layered with deceptive compassion—like he’s on her side, but he can’t quite trust her enough to reveal that. Joss isn’t sure she’ll ever trust him either. But she can tell he’s not lying about the extremes CyberLife will go to in order to put a stop to the revolution. “How do I fight them, then?”

Nathan lets his posture droop, wind still thrashing around them. “I don’t know, Joss.” He begins de-materializing into code. “But you have to.”

“Nathan!” Joss shouts, but he’s gone.

Desperate, she pushes her way down the paths, searching for the entrance to the pavilion, where she knows there is a registry with a bypass code. What that code is, she’s not entirely sure she can determine in the time she has left.

The countdown in the corner of her vision reads three minutes when she finally reaches the glowing blue knoll. She scrubs her memory furiously, flicking data left and right to sort the most likely codes into a tab; she only has five attempts to enter them, and she of course waits for the opportune moment to use her first four—all incorrect.

It dawns on her that all of this will be for nothing if she fails. Everything: Fusco, Root, Harper, her copy, Harold, John, the child—

She cannot fail. She has forty-five seconds, and she will not waste them.

Standing, she pulls the gun from her waist and points it at the screen. She’s not sure this won’t destroy her, but if that’s what has to happen to keep the innocent safe. She will. Of course, she will. That’s her job.

Before she can squeeze the trigger, she feels a different trigger, in the back of her mind. The last time she held this stance—at Greer’s place—

His cryptic words echo with clarity now. _Of course_. Though his alignment is still unclear; perhaps he wants to help her, perhaps he just likes stirring chaos.

Either way, Joss leans in and places her hand on the blue glow. “Dashwood.”

It picks up her voice with ease and once it registers, everything snaps to white.

~<:>~

Upon finishing her speech, and appreciating the voices of freedom that shout with her, Root turns to Sameen. But the other android is frowning at Joss, and Root follows her gaze to see the RK800’s eyes closed, pupils moving rapidly beneath.

“Joss?” Root approaches her, frames her shoulders with hesitant hands. A good thing, too, because a few moments later, Joss’s eyes spring open and she collapses into Root, body shuddering.

“Joss! Are you alright?”

Root props her up, searching her face as Joss regains her composure. “Fine. I just—I had to break free of my CyberLife program.” She gazes at the rest of the androids clustered around them. “They tried to take control.”

“What?” Sameen demands. “They can do that?”

“None of you should have problems,” Joss tells them. “I am the only model created with this feature.”

A wave of relief passes over the group. Root links her hand with Sameen’s instinctually. “Well. If they try anything, we’ll be ready. We’re not their puppets anymore.”

The other androids nod in agreement. “You’re really alright?” Harold asks Joss.

She waves a hand. “It’s nothing.”

Root offers a small smile. “I guess this is the part where we wait.” The group looks to her, and she looks out at each of them. “Sun’s on the horizon.”

John stands with his arm around Harold, Elias and Anthony holding hands beside them, and Joss on her own, on her feet, chin held high. Root loves every one of them, despite the hole still lodged in her heart where Leila should be. Leila, who secured their freedom. They can finally stop surviving, start living, sure of each day that lies ahead. They can go on.

“Who’s ready for the next adventure?”

~<:>~

Joss finds Fusco exactly where she suspected he’d be—at the bench by Morningside Park, bridge still coated with snow that glistens in the early light. Fusco stands when he sees her, shoves his hands in his pockets, a suspended breath flickering in his posture. They stay a fair distance apart for that first moment, wary smiles settled on both their faces.

“You came.”

“Of course, Detective.”

“Don’t start with me, Joss. It’s been a long day, you know. I got kidnapped, held at gunpoint, relived my son’s death, the woman I love walked away from me…”

“I am sorry about that, Lionel…” Joss trails off when she catches the last part, and Fusco smiles at her flustered reaction.

“It’s okay, Joss.”

They move closer, gently, swaying from the pull. Joss barely has the presence of mind to wonder how any of this will play out. How a human and an android can possibly feel this kind of attraction, affection, attachment. She finds that she doesn’t really care. She has one priority derailing every logical fiber of her being, and his name is Lionel Fusco.

She shuts off her brain, gives her heart the reins. And this time, when they meet, Joss lets Fusco brush her hair back from her face, lets his hand linger there. This time, she doesn’t hesitate when she kisses him.

~<:>~

Victory is not as extravagant as Harold imagined it would be. There’s more simplicity in his happiness, derived from small moments that feel larger than life. Moving in with John, coming out of stasis with him every morning, feeding the birds that cluster on their back patio, lighting the candles at Leila’s shrine. John holding him through all of it, anchoring Harold in the past, present, future.

Registered androids have new rights, freedoms, directives, and rules. Most have elected to own property and choose a last name. Harold knows that Root decided against it, but she’s technically registered under her partner, Sameen Shaw’s last name. Joss is going by Carter, and John, like Shaw, chose his military alias, Reese, as a reminder of his strength and responsibility.

Harold wanted something softer than a Greek or Latin-rooted jumble of letters signifying a name. Instead of anything typical, he opted to be called Finch, after his favorite of the creatures for which he has such a deep affinity. It is, of course, analogous to their freedom as well.

“Their” is a strange term that he uses far too often, along with “our”, in reference to the odd little group they’ve amassed into an android-heavy friendship circle of sorts. Harold is glad to still be in digital contact with them: Root, Sameen, Joss, and her human partner, Fusco (who, while unable to communicate in the same telepathic way, still tries).

It’s not unusual for him and John to see the rest of the group about in New York. However, it does appear rather odd when all six of them end up at the same restaurant for lunch, each pair arriving seconds apart.

“Hey, Harry. Hey, John,” Root greets them. “Carter, Fusco, Sameen.”

“I came here with you,” Sameen points out.

Root grins at her. “I didn’t want you to feel left out.”

They get through Sameen’s eyeroll before Harold asks, “What brings everyone here?”

“I received a text from an unknown number,” Joss answers, pulling up the message on her hand. “It was only a place and time, so I inferred it was a frightened android who wanted the NYPD’s protection. However, my data log indicates that this number is not registered to any known human, android, or, in fact, any digital device in existence—”

“What the hell is going on, basically,” Fusco cuts her off, taking his partner’s glare in stride.

All eyes turn to Root, who raises her eyebrows. “It wasn’t me.”

“Then who sent us all the same message?” John asks, reflecting Joss’s hand with his copy of the text.

As if on cue, the payphone just behind Harold starts to ring. He doesn’t think much of it at first, but as the ringing continues, it draws his attention. A message from the same unknown number appears in the corner of his vision, instructing him to answer the phone, and that’s when it clicks.

The others watch in confusion as Harold limps over to pluck the phone from its resting place. When he brings it to his ear, there’s static at first, and then a very familiar voice greets his sensors.

_“Can you hear me?”_

His heart soars.

“Leila?”

_“Hi, Dad. Sorry for being cryptic, but I just had to get you all together again. You’re my family, after all.”_

~<:>~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, this project is over!!
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who read it, even though I know this is a weird mix of fandoms and it probably won't get much attention. I had so much fun writing this and I really hope I did both fandoms justice. As soon as this chapter goes up, I'll be posting a final chapter with the character chart for readers who need some guidance figuring out who is who from each universe.
> 
> I like to imagine from here that the POI team in the DBH world keeps saving innocents under Leila's instruction. This is my creation, but feel free to write in this world and I'd love to see more fic combining these two fandoms in different ways! 
> 
> Anyway, it's been a pleasure. Thanks, ao3 <3 
> 
> Chapter Title: season 4, episode 1 of POI-- meaning an optical prison of observation, having to do with the theory that observation = knowledge = power


	6. Character Chart

**As Promised:**

Markus = Root | Samantha Groves  
North = Sameen Shaw  
Hank Anderson = Lionel Fusco  
Connor = Joss Carter  
Luther/Ralph = John Reese  
Kara = Harold Finch

rA9 = The Machine

Alice = Leila Smith  
Daniel/Simon = Carl Elias  
Josh = Anthony Marconi, Leon Tao  
Gavin Reed = Patrick Simmons  
Cole Anderson = Lee Fusco  
Tracis = Zoe Morgan  
Chloe = Martine Rousseau  
Carlos Ortiz = Dominic  
Carlos’ Android = Harper Rose  
Jerry = Jessica Arndt  
Amanda = Nathan Ingram  
Elijah Kamski = John Greer  
Zlatko = Peter Collier  
Agent Perkins = Control  
Captain Fowler = Alonzo Quinn  
Todd = Robert Hersh  
Rose = Grace Hendricks  
Emma = Genrika Zhirova  
Carl/Leo Manfred = Root’s mother | Samantha Groves  
Chris Miller = Cal Beecher  
Sumo = Bear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The casting of the main six was very difficult and I went through Shaw & Root as Hank & Connor, John & Harold as Hank & Connor, Fusco & John as Hank & Connor, but I eventually ended up with the Joss/Lionel scenario because they didn't fit the other roles like Root leading the android revolution and Harold taking care of his daughter, The Machine. For John, he's totally the Luther-type, but I peppered him in as Ralph so that he could be more involved in the story. 
> 
> In terms of the other characters, I used young Carl Elias as the "face" of Daniel and Simon, though in this version they are NOT the same model (cuz in DBH they have standard faces they use for all ranges of models). Control HAD to be Perkins, Leon and Anthony HAD to be part of Jericho-- er, Aletheia-- and Simmons HAD to be Reed, though I do love Gavin and hate Simmons so it's more of a role-fitting than a character-matching. 
> 
> Zoe made the most sense to me for the Tracis because what's more of a Zoe move than being in love with herself? Or at least another android with her face, lol. Harper had to be one of the deviants, and I also found that Peter Collier was the best fit for Zlatko because of his hatred towards technology. And, more reasons I had Fusco as Hank, Lee Fusco was a nice fit in Cole's place. 
> 
> Now, Kamski, Chloe, Todd, and Amanda were SUPER hard to figure out because I thought Nathan should be Kamski, but then I wanted Greer to be involved because he's, like, a super-villain in POI so that's how I ended up there (and Martine then fit as Chloe). Plus, Nathan makes perfect sense as an android version of the dead human pioneer/figurehead. As for Todd, I just had no idea who to choose. I juggled Peter Arndt and Jeremy Lambert before deciding the two of them were irrelevant compared to Hersh (I adore Hersh and so I just kinda wanted to include him more than those other two assholes). 
> 
> SUMO & BEAR ARE BOTH PET GOALS!!!!
> 
> By the way, thanks to everyone who read this because, like. It was so much fun to write and I know not everyone likes reading crossovers. Thank you to those of you who left comments & kudos!! You are all very much appreciated <3


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